Ashes
by StixieMarie
Summary: Sherlock/OFC. A series of bizarre and dangerous police investigations force Sherlock to reconnect with someone from his past. Rated T for violence, disturbing images, language, drug use and sensuality.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! I've read so many lovely Sherlock fics I thought I'd try my hand at one! I hope you enjoy!**

**Just a mild disclaimer before we begin: Not only am I American, but I have never actually been to the UK. If I get something wrong please let me know with kindness.**

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John Watson lay in bed at 221b Baker Street, relishing the peace and quiet that could only mean one of two things: his flat mate was still asleep (unlikely), or he had left in the wee hours of the morning on some business that was equal parts clandestine and ridiculous (probably).

Regardless of the reason, he was determined to take advantage of it and have a bit of a lie-in. He exhaled slowly and turned onto his back, his mind reforming the familiar patterns and pictures the water splotches made on his ceiling. Absentmindedly, John toyed with the idea of trying to fix the roof for Mrs. Hudson before sighing and rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes.

True, he enjoyed the quiet but he had to admit that the mornings when Sherlock went out were, as his flat mate would put it, exceedingly "dull."

He was just contemplating breakfast when he heard a door slam and Sherlock's booming voice from the floor below caused his heart to drop into his stomach.

"John! Fire!"

Watson jumped out of bed faster than he thought possible and retrieved his discarded trousers from where he'd dropped them the night before. He just managed to get one leg in when he heard hurried footsteps on the stairs and his door was thrown open.

"John," Sherlock paused as his eyes darted quickly around Watson's tidy, barely furnished room. "What, were you still in bed? Do you know what time it is?"

Watson hopped up and down, shoving his other leg into the trousers as he frowned at Sherlock.

"Yes well, I don't think my sleeping habits are relevant right now as you've just shouted 'fire'." He grabbed his phone off the bedside table and hurried toward the open door. "We should be getting out of here! Where's the fire, the kitchen? Did you call anyone yet?"

Sherlock gave John an exasperated look. "The kitchen?" He pulled out his own phone and started texting. "I never know what you're going on about." He turned and started back down the stairs. "Come on, Lestrade's sending a car for us."

"Wait, what about the fire?" John called loudly down the stairwell.

"Exactly why Lestrade's sending a car," Sherlock responded incredulously. "I'll meet you out front."

John grumbled under his breath but grabbed his coat and followed Sherlock down, finding no fire and nothing at all amiss in the flat. Realization dawned on him as he started down the second staircase and emerged onto Baker Street to find Holmes waiting with his nose in his phone.

"So I take it when you shouted 'fire' you meant a case?"

"Yes of course, what else would I have meant?" the taller man responded quickly, not looking up from his phone.

They stood in silence for a moment, John stifling a yawn as he blinked into the bright morning sun. He watched the bustle of early morning pedestrians move about eagerly, silently wondering how they managed the energy, until a stately town car came to a stop in front of them.

"This would be us then," Sherlock spoke quietly, finally putting the phone back in his pocket.

John whistled lowly as the driver got out of the car and held the door open.

"Since when do we merit this?"

"Hmmm… I've always merited this Watson," Holmes spoke as he slid into the back seat of the town car.

"Well then, it's nice to see Detective-Inspector Lestrade is finally coming to terms with it," Watson muttered as he followed. Their driver shut the door behind them and returned to the front, easing the car back onto Baker Street.

"Where are we going? And why on earth," he added, almost as an afterthought, "would Lestrade ask you to come to the scene of a fire?"

Sherlock tilted his head slightly but continued staring out the window.

"I haven't the slightest idea… to both your questions," he spoke thoughtfully before sinking back into silence.

The quiet left John to his thoughts, which were currently occupied recalling the last time he was in a car like this.

The "infamous Mycroft abduction," as Sherlock had taken to calling it. Though it appeared Sherlock was proving a no better conversationalist during this particular "abduction" as Anthea had been during the first.

John was startled out of his thoughts after about twenty-five minutes as the car came to a stop in a middle class neighborhood he couldn't place. Sherlock got out without waiting for the driver and stood dangerously in the middle of the street, turning rapidly in a circle while angry drivers expressed their displeasure with the braying of horns. He finally stopped and stared in what John thought was a northerly direction.

"Come on John, it's this way." Sherlock moved quickly down a narrow alleyway between two buildings as John hurried to catch up.

"Shouldn't we ask the driver where it is?" John shouted after him.

"No need, it's this way."

"How do you know?"

"Can't you taste it?" Sherlock's voice lilted slightly and Watson knew without seeing his face that he would be smiling almost imperceptibly.

"Taste what?"

"There's ash in the air."

John stopped in surprise and looked toward the sky. He stuck out his tongue like a school boy in winter hoping to catch a stray snowflake, but tasted nothing.

"You look ridiculous."

He glanced in front of him to see Sherlock frowning a few meters ahead and embarrassedly tucked his tongue back into his mouth.

They emerged out of the alley at the back of a brown brick housing complex with several gardens surrounded by tall fences. Sherlock turned toward the sound of voices and led them down the row until they came to the last garden and the only one with the gate propped open. As they approached the muted voices grew louder.

Sherlock stopped. "Do you smell that?"

Watson sniffed the air. "I smell… well fire. Smoke, and that's it."

"Exactly, no petroleum based accelerants, paint solvents, alcohol… Why am I here?" He spoke more to himself than to Watson as he entered the garden, eyes darting about as he surveyed the scene.

The garden was well kept even if everything was covered in a fine dusty sheen. It was small and only made smaller by the multitude of people traipsing about. A few of the forensics team stood in the back left corner, smoking of all things, and Sherlock almost smirked at the irony. More unnecessary police officers loitered here and there but his eyes were drawn to the far right corner where a young woman sat on the ground, two paramedics hovering over her. Her face was covered with an oxygen mask and the rest of her that he could see was streaked black where they had tried and failed to wipe off all the soot.

"A possible witness to foul play?" Sherlock spoke quietly to himself as he followed the blackened fence to the garden door. His eyes swept over the broken glass on the ground and up to the door which stood open, the glass pane in the middle shattered.

"Hey, you can't be in here… Oh it's just you freak."

"Good morning Sally, where's Lestrade?"

She jerked her head to the left. "Upstairs waiting for you. Put these on." She thrust a box of latex gloves into his hands and hastily retreated past them into the fresh air.

"That was odd," Sherlock muttered as he easily snapped his gloves into place.

"What do you mean?" Watson replied, struggling with his own gloves.

"She usually tries to keep me out for a little while longer."

They stepped over the glass and were immediately assaulted by the smell, ten times worse now that they were inside. Sherlock's eyes swept the room and he hesitated every so often to run his gloved hands over singed furniture. He stayed longer at the sofa, bending over slightly and grasping something between his thumb and pointer finger. He frowned as he rubbed them together and then moved towards the staircase.

The upstairs was far worse than below, almost everything was blackened and crumbling. Detective Inspector Lestrade walked out of a room on their left.

"Ah there you are. Any trouble getting here?"

"Why'd you have the car drop us off around back?" Watson asked curiously.

Lestrade opened his mouth to answer but Sherlock was quicker. "Everything here is slightly damp, most of the smoke has cleared and the temperature is returning to normal. So it happened in the night, most likely two to three hours ago. This of course means the press have gotten wind of it and are probably camped out front," he paused and turned to Watson, the corners of his mouth turned up a bit. "Can't have them see that Scotland Yard has called in outside help can they?" He turned back to Lestrade, quickly changing the subject. "Is that smell what I think it is?"

Lestrade nodded somberly. "I sincerely wish it wasn't."

Watson looked back and forth between the two of them. "What is it then?"

Sherlock frowned but squared his shoulders in determination. "Human flesh." He strode into the room as the Doctor's jaw dropped in surprise.

The sight and smell before him caused even Holmes to pause and curse under his breath. Recovering quickly, he raised his arm, covering his mouth and nose with his coat sleeve as he stepped further into the charred room. The floor groaned uneasily at his feet and he turned back to Lestrade.

"I'm going to assume the structure's been deemed sound or you wouldn't have let me enter."

"Inspector just left," the DI responded as he stepped back into the room, followed closely by Watson.

"Oh dear lord," Watson cursed, covering his mouth and nose like Holmes and turning toward the wall.

The entire room was grayish black and peeling but Sherlock's eyes were drawn to the remnants of the bed against the far wall, or more importantly, what lay on it.

The skin of the body was almost completely blackened and shriveled, and in some places completely burned away, strips of taut reddish muscle peeking through. Despite the state of the body, it was most definitely the broad chest of a man and, had he been wearing any clothes they melted away long ago.

"Victim's name?"

"Thomas Wellington. Age thirty one. Comes from money but worked for a non-profit downtown," Lestrade read from a small notebook in his hand.

Sherlock shifted his gaze to the man's face. His eyeballs had gotten so hot they had liquefied and burst in their sockets. His lips and hair had suffered a similar fate, and almost entirely burned away. Stepping back, Sherlock uncovered his mouth.

"The fire started in this room," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Obviously," John started, "but how is this," he waved his hand at the body, "even possible?"

"You're a soldier John, you've seen destruction before," Sherlock answered nonchalantly, his eyes drifting over the rest of the room.

"Yes, but nothing like this, never a man burned beyond recognition" he spoke softly.

Sherlock stepped close to the wall, examining a particular point as he spoke. "Human flesh burns at one hundred and thirty degrees… it ignites at four hundred and eighty."

"Could it have gotten that hot?"

"It can take less than thirty seconds for a small flame to spread out of control," Holmes spoke almost reverently. "Temperatures can range anywhere from one hundred degrees at floor level to six hundred degrees at waist level." He turned slowly, eyes sweeping over the walls until they focused on Lestrade and Watson. "Inhaling could literally blister your lungs. In five minutes a room could get so hot that everything ignites at once… a flashover."

Lestrade nodded. "Yes that's what the fire inspector said."

"And yet here I am, so I can only assume you suspect arson…" Lestrade nodded again. "I smell no accelerant, there are no stains on the floor, I see no gas cans or unusual burn patterns. Did forensics find any trace evidence?" Lestrade shook his head. "I repeat… and yet here I am."

"You haven't seen the note yet, in the bathroom." Lestrade gestured to the scorched remains of the opened door to the left of the body.

Sherlock's eyes widened and he hurried into the bathroom, followed closely by Watson.

It took him only seconds to find it.

The shared plaster wall between the bedroom and bathroom was entirely blackened save for an untouched portion at eye level that spelled a single word.

"Shame," Sherlock whispered, moving closer.

"How is that not burned?" John asked from behind him.

Sherlock didn't answer but leaned forward, his nose almost touching the clean area before stepping back and running a gloved finger over the letter 'S'.

"A flame retardant clear paint, original purpose most likely to fireproof fences or decks, anywhere outdoor cooking occurs. Easily purchased at any home improvement store… murder by arson it is then." He glanced at Lestrade. "I assume you've canvassed the area for any peculiar onlookers?" Lestrade nodded. "Right," Sherlock exited the bathroom, removing his gloves as he went. "Let's talk to the witness then." He led the way downstairs and back outdoors, all of them taking deep breaths of fresh air, attempting to rid themselves of the putrid odor of the bedroom.

Someone had brought the young woman a chair so she didn't have to sit in the dirt and the oxygen mask was gone, but she hadn't bothered to brush the ash and soot off her hair, skin and clothes, preventing Sherlock from forming an accurate picture of her.

"Why hasn't she been taken to the hospital?" he questioned Lestrade quietly as he watched her shoo away a paramedic armed with a syringe.

"Refused," Lestrade answered quickly, "Said they could look her over here or not at all."

"Hmmm…" Sherlock stared a little longer before addressing Lestrade. "Victims wife I presume, not married long by the look of the surviving photographs." He didn't wait for the DI's confirmation, taking long strides towards her, trusting that the others would follow.

She had managed to curl in on herself in the chair; head tilted downwards, her face slightly obscured by long hair of an indefinable color. Sherlock stepped close enough that he was certain she could see the tips of his black shoes. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"Excuse me Mrs. Wellington, would you mind if I asked you a few questions?"

"Claymore," she spoke quietly, her voice low and weary.

"Excuse me?"

"My name is Claymore. I never changed it." She looked up finally, her eyes widening in confusion. "I'm sorry but… Sherlock?"

Sherlock's mouth formed a thin line as he stared down at her but it was Watson that spoke.

"Do you know each other?" he asked in surprise.

"I'm not sure," Sherlock replied, sounding quite surprised himself, but even as he spoke his mind began stripping her hair and face of the dark smudges while subtracting years until all that was left was the dark brown hair, soft features, and bright eyes that he remembered.

"Alexandra?"

Lestrade's eyes shifted between the two of them in disbelief. "So you do know each other?"

"Apparently," Sherlock said flatly. "Though your surname wasn't Claymore when we knew each other."

"You weren't supposed to know my last name," she spoke, her voice still shell-shocked.

Sherlock scoffed and couldn't stop his eyes from rolling. "I knew everyone's last name."

"This is fascinating really," Lestrade began, "and as much as I'd love to hear all about whatever this is, would it be possible to get back to the task at hand?"

Sherlock took a step back, straitening his cuffs. "I know everything I can from what's left of the crime scene."

Lestrade sighed. "Would you mind enlightening us then please?"

Sherlock took a deep breath and began speaking quickly in a somewhat bored tone.

"The fire started upstairs in the master bedroom around four in the morning. Mr. Wellington was asleep there and from the charred remains of the cotton-polyester blanket and pillow on the sofa, Alexandra was asleep downstairs. From his position on the bed I can deduce that Wellington was probably rendered unconscious by the toxic fumes and never actually woke up. You were right to assume it was arson though if an accelerant was used I think it's safe to say the flames completely consumed it. The lack of a definable odor would suggest it's something we've not seen before that spreads quickly and burns hot. As for how it actually ignited I haven't the faintest." He paused for a breath. "This is where it gets interesting. The note on the bathroom wall would suggest the arson was premeditated and, consequently, murder. The murderer was quick and resourceful and was most likely someone Thomas Wellington knew or he wouldn't have had access to paint the fire retardant liquid on the wall. So the question then becomes, what did Wellington have to be shameful of and why did he want Wellington to pay for it?"

"'He'?" Lestrade's eyes widened purposefully and he flicked his head towards Alexandra.

"Statistically speaking most arsonists are male though I suppose… Oh. She didn't do this Lestrade."

Alexandra's eyes widened even more as she turned to the DI. "You think I had something to do with this?"

"I hadn't ruled it out," he replied softly.

"No," Sherlock shook his head. "As I said before, she was asleep on the sofa when the fire started. If she were responsible why not just leave through the garden? But no, the covering of ash and inhalation of smoke would suggest she went up stairs to try and rouse Wellington. She hasn't even tried to clean herself off yet and the absence of the smudges around her mouth and nose tell me she had the foresight to cover them with her sleeve." He nodded at her hands cradled in her lap. "The bandage on her right hand is due to the burns she sustained when she tried, clearly not thinking in her haste, to open the bedroom door. When she couldn't get it open she ran back downstairs as the fire was spreading but she was smarter this time and she kicked in the glass on the garden door as evidenced by the broken shards and lacerations on her right foot." Sherlock surprised them all by suddenly grabbing both Alexandra's hands from her lap, causing her to wince as he applied pressure to the bandage. He ran each under his nose before dropping them unceremoniously into her lap once again.

"And finally, the flame retardant that was painted on the wall has a very distinct odor that would be, but is not present on her hands."

They all stood, or in Alexandra's case, sat, in silence for a moment.

"Well," Lestrade spoke to her, breaking the tension. "Did he get it right?"

"Exactly right," she replied breathlessly and Sherlock smirked slightly at the DI.

"Sherlock, could I have a word please? Privately?"

He wrinkled his brow but followed Lestrade to the opposite end of the garden, leaving John to stand awkwardly next to Alexandra. He smiled at her kindly.

"I'm John… and I'm very sorry for you."

Her lips turned up slightly, the smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Thank you John. I'm Alex."

Watson glanced at Lestrade and his flat mate who appeared to be arguing with a quiet fervor.

"So, um, probably not the right time," he spoke again, returning his gaze to the woman seated next to him, "but how do you know Sherlock? It's been my experience that he doesn't really have friends."

She opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted.

"Why were you sleeping downstairs?" Sherlock shouted at her suddenly from across the garden, making her jump.

"What?"

"Downstairs, you were sleeping on the sofa. Why?" He and Lestrade closed the distance again quickly and Sherlock stared at her intensely, waiting for her answer.

"Tom and I had a row. So I slept downstairs."

"Historically speaking, it's usually the husband who's banished to the sofa."

"Yes well I…"

"Where is your wedding ring?" Sherlock interrupted.

Alex looked down in surprise at her left hand. "I don't know, I must have forgotten…"

"And your name, why not take his?" he continued quickly.

"I…"

"And honestly, you don't seem very upset."

She sucked in a breath and stood up, her eyes glaring. "How dare you! A man is dead!"

"A man? Not 'your husband'?"

"Sherlock what is your point?" Watson spoke loudly, not pleased with the way he was speaking to the young woman.

"My point, John, is that this was a marriage of convenience and nothing more."

"That's insane… you're insane," Alex muttered.

"Is it? Most newlywed women don't forget their wedding rings. And the sofa… I don't think you had a row, I think that's where you sleep. The photographs I saw are all of your wedding day and all staged; no candid shots. They're all for show."

"You don't know…" Alexandra began only to be interrupted again.

"Not quite finished actually. When I knew you your name was Alexandra Breckenridge. Now you say its Claymore and not Wellington. So you were married at least once before to a man you loved, obviously, you kept his name. He died and you marry Wellington but don't take his name. Why? Because you don't plan on keeping it that long." Sherlock started pacing, speaking more to himself than the others. "So that brings us back to a marriage of convenience. Citizenship? No, no, he was an Englishman. What else do we know of Thomas Wellington? Early thirties, works for a nonprofit downtown. Doesn't make much money; obviously… look where he lived. But Lestrade says he comes from money. Oh…" he paused and stopped pacing. "Yes of course." Sherlock smiled at nothing in particular. "Difficult parents or grandparents. They see what a wild young man he is and cut him off. His inheritance now has conditions… a wife, a family, a settled life. But he knows it won't work because even if he marries… his boyfriend… they'll never accept that. So what does he do? He meets you," Sherlock stabbed a finger in Alex's direction, "he hires you and the two of you form an agreement: you'll marry him, pretend to be his wife, put on a good face for his family and when the inheritance comes through you'll get your share, a divorce, and be done with each other."

"That's brilliant," John spoke quietly.

Sherlock hopped slightly and shook his fists in excitement. "Did I get it right?"

"God, you really are still a bastard aren't you?" Alexandra crossed her arms over her chest as she frowned at him.

Sherlock cleared his throat and lowered his arms. "That's a matter of opinion."

"Is he right?" Lestrade asked and Alex nodded. "Where you going to tell us?" He asked more angrily.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock began. "She was still going to hold out for the inheritance, however unlikely," he smirked.

They all stared at her.

"It sounds bad I know." She sighed but continued. "The truth is I barely knew Tom, but he was my friend and I wouldn't do this to him."

"No of course you didn't," Sherlock spoke seriously.

"But…"

"She didn't do it Lestrade. At the very least she wouldn't have jeopardized getting her cut of the inheritance," Sherlock interrupted.

Lestrade sighed in frustration. "Fine, then who did?"

Sherlock groaned loudly and turned his eyes to the sky. "Must I do everything?" He looked at Lestrade again. "I'd look at the boyfriend. It certainly matches the note. The secret shame of hiding his lover to oblige his family."

"Do you know the boyfriends name Mrs. Claymore?" Lestrade asked.

"No, there was someone but I never met him… Look, am I free to go?"

"I suppose, but we'll stay in touch. Don't leave London." With that Lestrade turned and walked to Sergeant Donovan.

"Right, I think we're done here." Sherlock put his black leather gloves back on and adjusted his scarf before nodding his head slightly in the young woman's direction. "Alexandra. Come on John." He turned and began walking out the way they'd come in.

"Uh, Sherlock… wait," Watson turned back to Alexandra. "Can we drop you somewhere, with family perhaps? I mean you can't stay here."

Alex shook her head. "No, no family. I'll be fine. I'll get a room somewhere. Thank you though. You're nicer than most people I meet." She gave him a small smile as Sherlock came back into the garden.

"John, we're going to have to get a taxi back. Lestrade's sent the car off."

Watson held up his hand to silence Sherlock. "Fine, hold on a moment." He returned his attention to Alex. "You know you could stay with us tonight, at our flat, if you want."

"No she can't," Sherlock spoke as he stood next to John.

"Sherlock, come on," Watson spoke as though he were talking to a child. "That's not very hospitable."

"It wasn't meant to be," he replied slowly.

Alexandra raised an eyebrow at the pair of them. "It's fine John, really. I'll find some place."

"No, you know what you can stay in my room for the night and I'll sleep in the common room. Or at the very least you'll have somewhere to get cleaned up and rest for the day before you have to deal with the Wellington's." He turned his head toward Sherlock. "I live there too Sherlock, I should have a say."

Holmes pressed his lips together in a straight line and stared down his nose at Watson for a few seconds.

"Fine," he spoke sharply and turned on his heels. "But you're paying for the taxi," he called back over his shoulder.

John smiled at Alexandra in embarrassment as Sherlock walked away. "Shall we?" He gestured after his flat mate and they began following him back to the main road.

"So, um…" John spoke hesitantly. "Just out of curiosity, where did you meet Sherlock? At university?"

She shook her head as she walked beside him. "No, I never went to university."

"Where then?"

She glanced at John out of the corner of her eye and then up to the tall, stiff back of the man they were following.

"In rehab."

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**What did you think? Should I continue? **


	2. Chapter 2

**Wasn't "The Great Game" amazing! I loved it but I can't believe we have to wait so long!**

**OK, so if you've read Doyle's original works you know that Sherlock was a recreational drug user. I loved the way they handled it in "A Study in Pink" but it got me thinking; how would this translate from an era when doctor's were actually writing prescriptions for cocaine to modern day? Sherlock would have gone to rehab. So here we go...**

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John stopped walking so suddenly he almost tipped over and Alex had to reach out a hand to steady him.

"Alright?"

"Yeah, yeah… yes." John straightened and they continued walking but he stopped them again seconds later. "No, no I'm not. I must be going crazy because I thought I heard you say 'rehab'."

"I did." Alex cradled her arms against her stomach. "I take it he never told you?"

"What, that he used to be an addict? No. Sherlock's not big on sharing."

"No I imagine not," she responded quietly as they resumed walking. They came to the end of the alley, Sherlock nowhere in sight and the passersby staring at her oddly. "Maybe I should wait here."

John shielded his eyes from the sun and scanned the street for Sherlock before glancing back at her. "Ignore it, it doesn't matter what they think. I'm more worried about where Sherlock's gone off to. Is this something ex-addicts do, run off on their own and get into trouble?" he asked half-jokingly while scanning the crowd again.

Alexandra stared at the back of his head for a moment before speaking. "You don't stop being an addict you know."

John turned back to her curiously. "What do you mean?"

"The term 'ex-addict' is a bit of a misnomer." Alex stepped away from the confines of the alley, momentarily forgetting her alarming appearance. "It's a cliché but it's still true; once you're an addict, you're one for life. You're drug of choice might change, you might 'get clean', as they say, but it just gets channeled somewhere else. It's always there, just under the surface."

Watson stared in fascination for a very short time before shrugging. "Not really my area of expertise."

"A doctor?" He nodded. "I thought so… you keep staring at the bandage on my hand like you're angry with it," she added at his confused expression and he laughed in surprise.

"It's just they've wrapped it all wrong, it's far too tight. I hope you'll let me rewrap it for you."

Alex smiled slightly. "If you must."

John's own smile faltered and he cocked his head to the side curiously. "Can I ask you a question?"

She nodded.

"Are you… clean?"

Alex's eyebrows raised in surprise at his forthright query. "That's a very personal question."

"I know," John spoke, his expression embarrassed, "but I think it's one I have a right to ask, seeing as how I've just invited you into my home."

She regarded him for a moment before speaking quietly. "I am."

John nodded quickly and forcefully, signaling that that would be the end of the awkward conversation.

"It astounds me John that you're so ready to take her at her word when she's already proven she's willing to lie in order to get what she wants."

Alex and John both flinched in surprise. They turned to find Sherlock standing behind them suddenly, in the process of removing his long coat. When he finished he placed it lightly around Alexandra's shoulders, the height difference causing the coat to brush the pavement.

"People are staring and the cabbie is never going to let you get in if he sees how filthy you are," he said in response to her confounded expression before addressing Watson again. "You're too trusting John."

The Doctor shook his head. "Just because I don't subscribe to the Sherlock Holmes theory that everyone and everything is duplicitous by nature doesn't mean I'm too trusting."

Sherlock shook his head in disbelief and changed the subject.

"It is now," he pulled out his phone, eyes flicking to the screen, "just past nine in the morning. Mrs. Hudson will be setting out another pot, so," he glanced at Alex who looked absurdly small in Sherlock's coat, "if you're finished telling John about my less than reputable past, I'd like to get home before it cools."

Sherlock spun on his heels and strode to the curb to hail a taxi. One pulled up almost immediately and he slid into the backseat, leaving the door open behind him.

John and Alex watched him, their mouths slightly agape, before their gazed snapped back to each other.

"Do you think he heard?"

"Who knows," Alex replied tiredly and pulled the coat tighter around her as another pedestrian looked at her in distaste. "We better go."

John indicated with his arm that she should precede him and she climbed into the cab, sliding over to make room for John until she was settled between the two men.

"221b Baker Street," John told the cabbie as he pulled the door closed behind him.

"Sherlock," he began as the cab pulled away from the curb, "how did you know we were talking about," he glanced at the back of the cabbie's head anxiously, "um, you're and Alexandra's shared past?"

"I didn't," Sherlock responded briskly, his gaze focused on a fixed point somewhere outside the cab, "you just told me."

John exhaled heavily. "Of course, I'm an idiot," he mumbled almost incoherently and shifted in his seat.

They rode in silence for a few minutes before John spoke again.

"What will you do now?" he asked Alex quietly.

She sighed and leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes. "Most of my things are in storage, so I guess I'll get out what I need and make a few phone calls. The Detective-Inspector… what was his name?" she asked, not opening her eyes.

"Lestrade," Sherlock answered quietly, his eyes shifting almost imperceptibly towards her. When Watson looked over her head at his flat mate he was staring out the window again.

"Lestrade will have told Tom's parents," she continued. "They'll be looking for me… they think I'm their daughter-in-law after all. I don't know if Lestrade's told them about their son's deception but they deserve to hear the truth from me, at the very least."

Sherlock snorted derisively and Alex's eyes flew open.

"If you have something to say Sherlock then, by all means, say it," she whispered harshly.

His head whipped around and he opened his mouth to speak but John cut him off loudly.

"No, stop it, the both of you. This is neither the time nor the place." He leaned towards them, lowering his voice. "She's just been through something traumatic, stop trying to bait her Sherlock." He leaned back, his voice returning to normal. "And anyway, we're here."

Sherlock was out of the cab before John could even pay the cabbie and halfway to the front door before they'd exited the car.

Mrs. Hudson was waiting for them in the entrance way.

"Oh Sherlock, there you are. Where's your coat dear? It's chilly out there."

He dipped his head slightly in the landlady's direction but didn't speak as he bounded up the stairs.

"There's coffee and tea on your table," she called loudly after him, leaning into the railing, "… but I'm not your housekeeper dear," she added absently before turning around.

"Good morning Dr. Watson," her eyes widened slightly at Alex but mercifully didn't comment. "Who's this then?"

"Mrs. Hudson, this is Alexandra, she's… a friend."

"Hello," she nodded to the older woman as she shrugged off Sherlock's coat, folding it over her arm.

"It's nice to meet you," Mrs. Hudson smiled.

"Alex is just going to get cleaned up Mrs. Hudson…" he paused as an idea struck him. "I wonder if you might have something she could change into?"

The landlady waved her arms in front of her. "Yes, yes of course. I'll bring something up." She stepped forward and tugged gently on Sherlock's coat. "Why don't you let me take that?"

Alexandra handed it over.

"And if you send down your, erm, night clothes, I'll see if I can't salvage them," she added kindly.

"Thank you, but I don't think I'll want them anymore. I wouldn't want you to waste your time," Alex spoke softly and Mrs. Hudson nodded.

"Fine, fine. I'll just get rid of them then."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson," John said as he placed a hand lightly on Alex's back, coaxing her towards the stairs.

She was ushered upstairs and past the small kitchen, a quick turn of her head revealed Sherlock seated at the table, a newspaper in hand, but John moved quickly preventing her from getting a good look at her surroundings. The most she could manage was one word that kept floating in and out of her thoughts: clutter.

John stopped outside a door in a small hallway. "Right, shower's in there. Help yourself to whatever you need. Towel's are under the sink." He glanced down. "Here," he gently lifted her bandaged hand and began unwrapping it. When he was finished he turned her small hand over, examining it. "This isn't so bad really. I'll rewrap it when you're done."

He smiled and dropped her hand, leaving her completely alone for the first time in hours. She let herself into the room and closed the door without turning on the light, immersing herself in total darkness. Leaning against the wall, she forced herself to take deep, shallow breaths as her calm façade threatened to crumble.

"Breathe Alex, just breathe. You're fine," she whispered into the darkness and groped along the wall for the light switch.

The sudden brightness startled her and she blinked furiously, her head swimming with bluish-green spots. When her vision cleared she could see that the small bathroom was less cluttered than the other rooms. It contained all the things you'd expect to find in a man's wash room (shaving kit, toothbrushes, soap) and some things you wouldn't (an old fishbowl filled with a hazardous looking bright orange liquid, for example). She steered clear of the ominous bowl and stepped to the mirror, cringing at her first glimpse of herself. Ignoring her reflection in the mirror, she made short work of the simple t-shirt and pajama bottoms she was wearing and stepped into the shower.

Alex turned on the tap and jumped slightly as ice cold water washed over her. She leaned out of the spray and turned the knob until the temperature was scalding and filled the bathroom with steam. She stood under the spray, letting it beat down on her until the grime from the fire ran off her body in black rivulets and disappeared down the drain.

Without warning, the events of the morning washed over her like the hot water and she couldn't stop the tears from falling. She leaned her forehead against the slick wall under the shower head and sobbed in earnest until nothing more would come and she was left with a welcomed emptiness. She pushed herself away from the wall and began the monotonous task of washing herself, scrubbing until her skin was raw.

The water had long since grown cold by the time she was finished and she opened the curtain to find the steam had dissipated and her ruined night clothes had been replaced by a neatly folded pile near the door.

She wrapped a towel around her body and one around her head before examining the clothes.

Mrs. Hudson had thought of everything and she pulled on the socks and undergarments that were only slightly too small. The trousers were pleated and fit her fine, but the floral printed blouse was a little too big. She towel-dried her hair as best as she could but couldn't find a hair brush anywhere and had to run her fingers through her long, tangled tresses.

Alex hung the towels she's used over the curtain rod to dry and slipped on the flats Mrs. Hudson had left her. She hesitated with her hand over the doorknob, taking a deep breath before pulling it open and entering the hallway. She made her way into the other rooms quickly and found John seated alone in the kitchen. He looked up when she entered and nodded his head to the empty chair at his left.

"Feel better?" he asked as she slid into the seat.

Alex nodded and John smiled slightly.

"Coffee or tea?"

"Coffee please, black." She looked towards the main room and then back at John. "Where's Sherlock?"

"I don't know, sulking probably," he replied, setting a mug down in front of her and pulling his chair closer. "Let's see that hand."

She gave him her right hand and lifted the mug awkwardly with her left, savoring the bitter tasting liquid.

Watson began to wrap her hand in silence, looking up every so often, a question plain on his face.

"What is it?" Alex asked.

John shook his head. "I probably shouldn't ask you…"

"But you're going to anyway," she interrupted.

John grinned as he finished her hand and met her eyes.

"What was Sherlock in rehab for?"

Alexandra hesitated, glancing over her shoulder briefly. "Maybe you should ask him."

He snorted slightly in response. "He didn't even feel the need to tell me he was in rehab; you think he'd tell me what he was in there for?"

"You won't know unless you ask." Alex took another sip of coffee.

"Be a lot easier if you just told me. I must admit I'm curious. Was it opium?" he asked, only half seriously. "It would be just like Sherlock to get addicted to an antiquated drug."

"I hear it's making a come back actually," Sherlock said impassively as he entered the kitchen and John gaped at him.

"You're not serious… opium?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course not." He walked past them to pour more coffee into his mug. "It was cocaine," he spoke quietly, his back to them.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment, until Sherlock turned around, a scowl on his face.

"Aren't you going to make the same inquiry of Alexandra? Oh there's no need really, it's obvious," he spoke, not waiting for a response. He walked around until she was directly in her line of sight. "The collapsed veins on her underarm. The tight, puckered and pockmarked skin at the bend. The way she wouldn't let the paramedic get near her with a needle…" Sherlock leaned against the wall of the kitchen and met her eyes. "Heroin." He paused, taking a sip of coffee as her gaze dropped to the table top. "When they brought her in she was so high she looked half-dead, and when she started to come down you could hear her screaming from her room, begging for days," he spoke callously. "Is that enough information for you John?"

Alex's chair scraped across the floor and fell over as she stood up suddenly, a slight tremor running through her body. Her eyes remained on the table top as she addressed Watson.

"Thank you for everything John," she spoke, her voice shaking slightly, "but I think I should go."

She practically ran to the door, not giving him a chance to protest and he sat in stunned silence for a moment before jumping up.

"What is wrong with you?" he asked Sherlock angrily but the taller man only sipped his coffee calmly.

John cried out in exasperation and hurried after Alex.

He caught up with her a short distance down Baker Street, grasping her by the shoulder to stop her. She turned around and met his gaze with a dazed one of her own as he struggled to catch his breath.

"I'm… so… sorry," he panted.

"You have nothing to be sorry about… I'm not sure Sherlock does either," she added. "What he said was true."

"No he shouldn't have said those things, I don't understand it," he stopped and glanced around them. Placing a hand on her arm, he moved them closer to the buildings and out of the way of the pedestrians. "I mean, he's always insensitive, but I've never seen him be so deliberately cruel."

Alex smiled sadly. "Maybe I remind him of something he'd rather forget."

John's expression grew thoughtful.

"You could come back," he said after a long moment.

Alex shook her head rapidly. "No, I don't think so. I feel like I've been thanking you constantly since I met you, but I'll do it again; thank you for everything." She started to turn but stopped halfway. "Please thank Mrs. Hudson for me too."

Alex walked off into the crowd, John watching her for a moment before starting the other way down Baker Street.

* * *

Several days passed in relative quiet at 221b Baker Street; reexamining the body of Thomas Wellington at the morgue the only excitement Sherlock had to occupy him.

John refused to accompany him on these visits for two reasons; he had absolutely no desire to see Wellington's gruesome remains again and he was still angry at the way Sherlock had treated Alexandra, whom neither had seen nor heard from since that day.

John lay in bed listening to Sherlock play the violin, badly, one morning when his phone rang.

"John Watson."

"Where's Sherlock?"

"Good morning to you to Lestrade," John yawned. "You do realize I'm not his answering service?"

"Look I've been ringing him all morning," Lestrade spoke angrily," he's not answering his phone… There's been another fire."

John shot up straight in bed. "I'll get him, text me the address."

* * *

Sherlock's shoes crunched over the scorched carpet of the small flat in North London loudly.

The emergency crews had responded faster this time and there was less damage, the majority of it limited to the bedroom.

There was also, John was relieved to see, no burnt body on the bed or anywhere else in the flat for that matter.

In fact, if it weren't for the single word deliberately formed by the burn patterns on the wall, John wouldn't have been able to connect the two, but there it was, staring him in the face.

"Truth," Sherlock read soberly.

"What does it mean Sherlock?" John asked.

"I don't know." His eyes scanned the room again, resting on a bag and a small pile of clothes in the untouched corner of the room for the second time. "But I have an idea who might be able to tell us."

"Sherlock, what on earth are you talking about?" John asked but was ignored.

"Where is she Lestrade?"

"Where is who Sherlock?" John asked again louder, tired of being ignored.

Sherlock shifted his gaze to his flat mate briefly before returning to Lestrade.

"Alexandra."

John visible flinched and his mouth opened in surprise. "What? She was here?" Sherlock nodded. "How do you know?"

Sherlock inclined his head toward the corner. "The clothes. That's the shirt Mrs. Hudson gave her…" He turned back to Lestrade. "Well, where is she?"

The DI frowned. "St. Bartholomew's… she didn't have much of a choice this time."

"But she's alive yes?" John asked anxiously.

Lestrade nodded. "She's in pretty bad shape."

Sherlock ignored them and turned back to the wall behind the bed again, the single word, "truth", mocking him silently as he examined it.

"Sherlock, what exactly is going on?"

He turned and glanced at Watson, now standing beside him. "I don't know what's going on John, but I do know one thing… we were wrong."

"About what?"

"This has absolutely nothing to do with Thomas Wellington."

* * *

**OK, I just want to clarify that no matter how much it may seem that way, there will not be a romantic relationship between John and Alexandra. I'm thinking about introducing Sarah to this story. I actually quite like her character.**

**Leave me a review and let me know what you think! I'm having so much fun writing this story and reviews definitely motivate me to write faster!**

**Hope you like it!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed! I hope you're enjoying reading it as much as I am writing it!**

* * *

The halls of St. Bartholomew's bustled with people, a fact Sherlock Holmes was unaccustomed to as he usually avoided the emergency room, preferring instead to lock himself away in the research labs. He sidestepped a harried and frustrated looking doctor as he and John followed Lestrade to where Alexandra was being kept.

Lestrade had informed them briefly of the young woman's injuries: second degree burns down the right side of her body, mostly on her extremities. She was unconscious when they took her to the hospital, presumably from a head injury that Lestrade couldn't account for but Sherlock had seen nothing at the crime scene to indicate another person was present at the time of the fire.

The DI stopped outside a numbered room with the door open and poked his head inside.

"She's still out," he spoke quietly. "I'm going to find her doctor, see what's going on." Lestrade looked at John pointedly. "Wait for me and stay out of trouble."

Watson nodded, rightly interpreting his words to mean "keep Sherlock out of trouble," as Lestrade strode off down the hall.

Sherlock waited for Lestrade to round the corner before smirking slightly and entering the room, John following closely behind.

"Now Sherlock, really, we should wait for Lestrade."

"Relax John," Sherlock replied, his eyes sweeping over the small room. "I promise not to touch anything," he added lightly, his voice muffling the blips and bleeps of the hospital equipment.

Both their eyes rested on the small woman in the hospital bed. Her eyes were closed, head tilted slightly to the left. She was covered with a blanket to her waist, the rest of her enveloped by the traditional hospital gown. Alex's right arm was almost entirely covered with dry gauze and Sherlock assumed her right leg looked much the same under the blanket. If she had suffered a head injury, he couldn't see it in her current position.

Her left arm was splayed out from her body, fingers slightly curled in as though she was holding something, but the hand was empty. An intravenous was secured with a catheter and tape at the bend of the arm and Sherlock walked over silently to examine the IV bag.

John tore his eyes away from Alex at Sherlock's sudden movement, having been afforded some relief at the sight of the smooth rise and fall of her chest.

"So you no longer think this is about Thomas Wellington?" John asked as Sherlock brought his face as close to the IV bag as possible without touching, keeping his promise.

"No."

"Could be something to do with the both of them, they were married… technically."

"Could be," Sherlock replied, pulling away from the bag and returning to his original position by the door. He stood casually but his gaze was fixed on Alexandra's face as though waiting for something.

John frowned. "But you don't think so?"

"No."

"The notes fit though," John's brow furrowed in thought. "It was shameful what they were trying to do and now the truth is out… but you think it was solely about Alex?"

"I do."

"Why?"

Sherlock exhaled slowly. "They were careful, most of the time. They fooled a lot of people. The arsonist didn't know the marriage was one in title only. He expected her to be in bed with Wellington, and when she survived, he tried again." His eyes widened almost imperceptibly and he reached behind him to shut the door.

"Sherlock what are you doing?"

"She's about to come round."

John turned back to Alex in surprise. "How can you tell?"

"Her breathing has changed and her eyelids are palpitating."

John turned back to him with a shocked expression. "How in the world do you know what she looks like when she's waking up?"

Sherlock's eyes flicked to Watson briefly before returning to Alex. "I know what you look like when you're waking up too," he replied, avoiding the question. "Does that alarm you?"

John visibly shuddered and muttered "hell yes" under his breath. As soon as he turned back to Alex he began to notice the small changes, and, a few seconds later, her eyelids fluttered open.

They were glazed and disoriented at first, and she blinked slowly, turning her head towards them.

"What's happening?" she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"Alex, it's John," he spoke softly. "You were hurt."

"Where am I?"

"The hospital," John answered.

She swallowed with difficulty and closed her eyes again. "My arm hurts."

"Yes, you were burned fairly badly."

She shook her head gently in confusion. "No, not that one."

Alexandra lifted her head as much as she could and gazed down at her left arm, her eyes focusing on the IV sticking out of her inner elbow.

It started as a slight tremor but within seconds she was shaking terribly and straining towards her arm.

"Get it out! Get it out! Get it out!" she cried over and over, each one increasing in volume and desperation. She raised her burned arm, crying out louder at the sharp, sudden pain, and raked her hand over the IV in a feeble attempt to remove it.

John reacted quickly and grabbed her injured arm but she fought him and he was forced to hold her down by the shoulders as she thrashed wildly.

"Get it out, get it out!" she screamed and sobbed harder, tears running down her face.

John turned his head to look at Sherlock angrily. "For gods sake Sherlock, do something! Get help!"

The taller man jerked his eyes from Alex to John, his face emotionless, and stared for a beat before silently turning to a wheeled storage compartment near the bed. After opening a few drawers he found what he was looking for and moved toward the bed.

"Hold her arm still."

John did as he said and Sherlock placed the small piece of gauze in his hand against the edge of the catheter and pulled the IV. He pressed down gently to stem the flow of blood when it was completely removed.

Alex stopped thrashing almost immediately and fell back against the bed. Closing her eyes once again, she whispered "thank you, thank you, thank you," repeatedly, her voice exhausted but relieved.

John glared at Sherlock in disapproval. "Sherlock…"

"What?" Sherlock snapped suddenly. "It was only a saline solution and morphine drip. She'll survive and we need her lucid."

John frowned but didn't respond as Sherlock pushed the now useless IV pole against the wall, taking its place next to the bed. He regarded her with curiosity for a moment.

Her eyes were still closed but she had ceased repeating her mantra, for which he was very thankful. As her labored breathing finally slowed and evened out, she opened her eyes, blinking up at Sherlock in embarrassment.

"Better?" he asked, his tone somber.

"Yes. More painful but, yeah, better," Alex spoke quietly, her voice scratchy. "Can I have some water please?"

Sherlock nodded and glanced at John.

"Yeah," Watson said, "I'll be right back."

Sherlock's eyes followed him out the door and when he turned his attention back to Alex she was staring at him, her eyes narrowed suspiciously and her face earnest.

"What is it?" he questioned apprehensively.

Alexandra took her time, choosing her words carefully. "I can never tell if what I'm seeing is really you or the mask… or if there's even a difference between the two."

The corners of Sherlock's mouth turned up slightly. "I think you're still delirious."

She smiled and shook her head lightly as John came back into the room, a plastic cup in his hand.

"All I could find nearby was ice chips but at least they're melting," he began but stopped, head turning from one to the other. "Did I miss something?"

They both ignored him and Sherlock walked back to the far side of the room, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. He waited for John to help Alex sit up a bit and tip the plastic cup against her lips before beginning his interrogation.

"Whose flat were you staying at?"

"Just some friends," she replied. "They were going to be on holiday for a few days and said I could stay."

"How long had you been there?"

She thought for a moment. "I don't know, about three days I guess."

"And where were you the night before?"

Alex felt her skin grow warm and couldn't stop the pink tinge from creeping over her cheeks. "How is that relevant?"

"I'll decide what's relevant," he spat out quickly.

"I was out, getting a coffee with a friend."

Sherlock sighed heavily. "Lie."

"What…"

He stepped away from the wall slightly, eyes boring down on her. "You bathed last night but weren't able to get the ink from the green stamp off your hand entirely. You were at a club. What were you doing there?"

She glanced at the remnants of the stamp on her hand as though it betrayed her before meeting the consulting detectives gaze. "What every normal person does at a club Sherlock," she spoke irritably. "I was having a drink, meeting new friends."

"Did you bring any of these new friends home?"

"Of course not! I'm not an idiot," she replied angrily.

He looked as though he'd very much like to argue the fact but pressed on. "What time did you arrive home?"

"God Sherlock, I don't know." She ran her left hand over her face wearily. "After midnight I guess."

She jumped as the door opened suddenly, revealing a very annoyed Lestrade.

"What part of 'wait for me and stay out of trouble' did you not understand?" His eyes glided over the room, widening when they found the discarded IV on the floor.

"I took it out," Alexandra spoke quickly. "I didn't… need it."

Lestrade glanced at her in disbelief, his features stern.

"Did you find her doctor?" John asked in an attempt to change the subject.

"No," Lestrade sighed. "There was an accident on the motorway. Everyone's running around like mad out there." He turned to Sherlock. "Right, there's no point dragging this out, just tell me what you've found out."

"Nothing of consequence," Sherlock spoke in a monotone.

"Really?" Lestrade looked surprised and somewhat intrigued as he turned back to Alexandra. "The fire started in the bedroom again Mrs. Claymore. We found you unconscious in the hallway, how did you get out of the bedroom?"

"I don't remember exactly," she replied sheepishly. "Maybe I smelled smoke or something and woke up… I don't know… why can't I remember?"

A loud thud echoed through the room and they looked over at Sherlock, his hand flat against the wall.

"Head injury," he spoke quickly and they all looked at him in confusion.

Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You said she was unconscious from a head injury when you found her." Lestrade nodded and Sherlock walked over to the right side of the bed, forcing John to move out of his way. "Where is it? Turn your head," he demanded.

Alex frowned but did as he asked. She winced as his slender fingers probed the large lump on the back of her skull. He finished quickly and smirked at Lestrade.

"She never made it to the bedroom Lestrade." He glanced down at Alex, the softening of his eyes barely noticeable. "You have been stupidly lucky."

"Explain," Lestrade spoke quickly.

"At the first fire she was sleeping downstairs but the murderer expected her upstairs, so she was able to escape. He expected much the same this time, for her to be in the bedroom, but she wasn't. She was," he closed his eyes briefly, recalling the layout of the flat, "in the hallway, between the bathroom and the bedroom." Lestrade and John both stared at Sherlock, confusion obvious on their faces. "She went out last night, imbibed far too much, stumbled back to the flat, and unwisely decided to take a shower."

"Not a good idea when you're drunk," John chimed in, realization replacing the confusion on his face, "which is probably why she didn't get all the green ink off her hand."

"Exactly," Sherlock continued, "and in her haze she slipped and hit her head on the side of the bath, hence the lump. Then, even more disoriented than before, she dragged herself up, dried off, got dressed but passed out before she could make it to the bedroom. She would have fell with her right side facing the room, close enough for the heat and flames to reach her." He glanced down at her, a self-satisfied expression on his face.

"There's only one problem with that," Alex spoke seriously. "I swear I only had one drink last night, I was fine when I left the club."

Sherlock blinked at her a moment. "That means…" He looked up at Lestrade, his eyes widening in excitement. "He was there," he spoke with a quite awe, "he was at the club." He began pacing the small room with vigor. "He's probably been following her for days. He drugged her drink to ensure she wouldn't wake up." He stopped and rounded on Lestrade. "Have a sample of Alexandra's blood sent to the lab and see if the club has video surveillance. He probably spoke to her!"

"Yes thank you Sherlock, I do know how to do my job," Lestrade muttered.

"Wait a moment," John looked thoughtful as he spoke. "So to ensure success this time, he drugged Alex, thinking that she would fall asleep and not be able to wake when the fire started, but it backfired because she… decided to take a shower? That's ridiculous."

"No," Sherlock smiled, "it's lucky… and it means he's not nearly as smart as he thinks he is."

"But how is he starting the fires?" Alex asked quietly from the bed and Sherlock turned to regard her.

"I don't know, but he must be doing it remotely, I just can't figure out how." He paused. "I must admit I'm more interested in why he's doing it. Why would someone want you dead Alexandra?"

"I have no idea."

"Really? Shame and truth…" Sherlock watched her reaction closely but she just looked confused.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Those were the message left at each scene," John explained.

"Yes," Sherlock continued, "do they mean anything to you?"

Alex chewed on her bottom lip in thought. "No. I'm sorry but it doesn't."

Sherlock stepped closer to the bed. "You're certain? Because I think you know that skeletons have a way of forcing themselves out of the closet, so to speak."

They stared at each other for a long moment before Alex blinked and turned away. "I don't know what it means," she said softly.

The door opened suddenly and an older nurse came in. "I'm sorry gentlemen, but you're going to have to leave now."

"It's alright," Lestrade said quickly, flashing his badge.

The nurse smiled. "Police or not, I need to change her dressings. A little privacy, if you please." She walked towards the bed but faltered when she saw the IV lying on the floor. "What on earth… who took this out?" She glared at the men. "Get out, everyone out!"

"Alright, alright," Lestrade mumbled, "we're going. If you think of anything Alexandra, you call me."

John smiled kindly at Alex as they turned to leave but it wasn't fast enough for the nurse who began to shoo them with her arms. Sherlock turned back around sharply, gripping one of the woman's arms tightly and startling her.

"A piece of advice," he spoke quietly but sternly, "you may want to think twice before inserting anything into the arm of a recovering heroin addict without their permission."

She stared at him dumbfounded and he dropped her arm, shutting the door quietly behind him.

* * *

Sherlock and John arrived back at their flat just after noon. A light drizzle had started and John brushed water out of his hair as they made their way up the stairs.

He took off his coat and sat down in the armchair, watching Sherlock pace about the room in a daze. The taller man walked to the window and stared out into the rain, deep in thought.

"Uh, Sherlock… are you going to take your coat and scarf off?" John asked quietly but he was ignored.

Sherlock turned back around and marched into the kitchen, his face blank. After a few moments he returned and flopped onto his back on the sofa, covering his eyes with the back of his arm.

"Um, Sherlock… is everything alright?"

"Yes John," he spoke condescendingly. "I'm thinking."

They sat in silence for a moment before John spoke again. "Lestrade's going to check the surveillance footage from the club, see who spoke to Alex… Is there something I can do to help?"

Sherlock sat up so suddenly that John jumped. "Yes there is. Research." He took a deep breath and spoke quickly. "Find out everything you can about Alexandra. Where did she go when she left rehab? Who was her first husband? What did he do for a living? What happened to him? What did she do for a living? How did she meet Thomas Wellington? Has she been traveling? Who are her friends? Where is her family?"

"Alright slow down," John spoke, searching for a pen and paper underneath all the clutter.

"I need to know everything she's been doing and everyone she's come into contact with."

"Now that might be a bit hard Sherlock," John tried to reason with him but he only shook his head vehemently.

"Everything John."

The doctor sighed. "Alright I'll try but what are you going to do?"

Sherlock bounded off the couch unexpectedly and hurried to the door.

"Wait, where are you going?" John called after him loudly.

"Out!"

John shook his head in aggravation as Sherlock's quick footsteps echoed back up the stairs and he heard the front door slam.

* * *

The rain had begun to fall in earnest as the storm clouds rolled in, making midday feel more like evening. Sherlock stood across the street from a very large brick building, its many windows shining brightly from within. He stuck his hands in his coat pockets, his collar already turned up against his neck in an ineffective attempt to keep out the rain. He stared at the building soberly before his eyes moved to the sign that was situated on the well manicured lawn.

With the smallest of sighs, Sherlock reluctantly wandered across the street and up the wide steps of the Three Elms Rehabilitation Center.

* * *

**Hmm... I wish they gave you the option of selecting three genres for your story because I'd definitely add angst to mystery and romance.**

**I'm toying with the idea of doing some rehab flashbacks. I don't normally like flashbacks but I have all these images running around my head and I'd rather see them than hear Sherlock and Alexandra talk about them.**

**So what did you think? Should I do some flashbacks? Leave a review and tell me what you think of the story so far!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Again, thanks to all that have reviewed so far! You give me the encouragement I need to keep up with this story! Hope you enjoy the new chapter!**

* * *

It smelled exactly the same as he remembered; the sterility and sweat of a hospital hidden beneath the pungent stench of the numerous floral bouquets, far too many for the small waiting room.

Sherlock fought the urge to sneeze as he stepped further into the room, his nose wrinkling in distaste. There was something else buried deep underneath the other offensive odors, and, if he were a man ruled by his emotions, he might call it desperation.

The small room was empty, save for the overweight bottled blond receptionist whom Sherlock didn't recognize. She looked up from her magazine when he entered, drumming her fingers against the countertop as she waited for him to approach.

He ignored her and stared at the supposedly soothing powder blue walls of the waiting room in silence, mentally berating himself for not thinking this through.

It vexed him to know end that he would act so unlike himself, but he had to admit than when it came to his stay at Three Elms, he had never acted rationally.

He heard a door opening and turned in time to see a well dressed, portly man in his late fifties enter the room through a door next to the reception area. Sherlock recognized him almost immediately as Doctor Madison, the rehab's chief therapist. He was wider and his hair was graying at the temples now but he looked much the same. He clutched a manila folder in one meaty fist as he stopped and stared at Sherlock, eyes wide as though he thought he might be seeing things.

"Sherlock Holmes? You're not… not checking yourself in?" he stammered.

Sherlock smiled slightly. "No."

The older man raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Oh thank God," he muttered, noticeably relieved. He glanced at Sherlock again and had the decency to look embarrassed. "No offense," he continued sheepishly, "we just haven't had one like you in … well since you." He stepped forward, shaking one of Sherlock's slender hands with his own plump ones. "What can I do for you? Is it too much to expect you've finally shown up to begin your post counseling? Eight years too late mind you."

Sherlock shook his head, pulling his hand away from Dr. Madison and shoving it deep into his coat pocket.

"No, I need to speak with you about a former patient. Alexandra Breckenridge."

He didn't think it would be possible but Dr. Madison managed to look even more surprised, his mouth gaping slightly.

"Have you two kept in touch?" he asked. "I must admit I didn't expect that, not after the… well you know."

Sherlock scowled. "No, you're right to think we haven't stayed in contact. We've only recently become reacquainted."

The Doctor nodded his head repeatedly. "Hold on a moment, we can speak in my office." He turned to the receptionist, who had been watching their interlude with rapt fascination, and thrust the manila folder at her. He motioned for Sherlock to follow him back into the main part of the compound and he trailed after him, but not before hesitating a tiny bit at the door.

The main common room was much as Sherlock remembered it: large with tile floors and white walls, an oversized television in the corner surrounded by couches where scarred looking patients sat in comfortable clothes. Those that weren't watching the television were sitting at scattered tables, some playing cards, others simply talking.

Dr. Madison bypassed the corridor that Sherlock knew led to the individual patient rooms and went down another that was mainly reserved for staff, stopping outside a large mahogany door with his name printed on it and digging in his pocket for his keys.

A young woman smiled at Sherlock shyly as she passed, wheeling a cart with clean linens down the hallway.

"Ah here we are," Dr. Madison mumbled as he pushed open the door and ushered him inside, shutting it quietly behind him.

The room was sparse and well organized with an overflowing bookshelf, a desk and a few chairs, but Sherlock's gaze was drawn to the far wall where several large file cabinets stood beneath the office's only window.

Dr. Madison settled his large frame behind the desk and gestured for Sherlock to sit opposite him. He stared at the younger man thoughtfully before speaking.

"How are you Sherlock?"

He frowned in response. "You forget that I'm not here for counseling."

"Yes of course," Dr. Madison spoke quickly, "despite the fact that your brother paid a considerable amount of money for your stay here and all the benefits that went with it."

Sherlock's frown deepened. "I never asked him to do that."

"No, I don't imagine that you would have. Well go on then, tell me what you want."

"I already did. I want to speak with you about Ms. Breckenridge…"

The Doctor interrupted, waving his hands in dismissal of Sherlock's statement. "Yes, yes, but I want to hear you say it exactly."

Sherlock paused for a moment, considering. "I want you to give me copies of Alexandra's files, all of them."

Dr. Madison shook his head. "I thought so. You know I can't do that, they're confidential." He smiled slightly. "But I'm pleased you asked instead of just breaking in. It wouldn't have been the first time you've burglarized my office."

Sherlock couldn't keep the self-satisfied smirk from his face. "I thought about it. It was less difficult when I was already living here."

Dr. Madison chuckled softly but it soon faded and they sat in silence for a long moment, the Doctor tapping a pen against the desk absently.

"Why do you want them Sherlock?" he asked finally, breaking the silence.

Exhaling heavily, Sherlock fixed his gaze on Madison's, trying to convey the severity of the situation.

"Someone is trying to kill her."

The Doctor jerked in surprise and dropped his pen, visibly taken aback. "Are you a police officer?" he asked in disbelief.

"No."

"But you work with them?"

"More or less, yes. Sometimes," Sherlock spoke quietly.

"How do you know someone's trying to kill her?"

"That's confidential," Sherlock answered, turning the Doctors words against him.

"How will seeing her files, reading her sessions, help you catch this person?"

Sherlock thought about this seriously for a moment. "Anything could be of use at this point. If Alexandra knows anything she isn't letting on and if it's someone she knew, even from years ago, she may have mentioned them and it would be a start."

Dr. Madison frowned and sat in silence for a few seconds.

"Is that the only reason you want her files Sherlock?"

His question caught him off guard and he blinked rapidly, trying to form a response. "You knew Alexandra, she enjoys her secrets. There's something she isn't telling us and I think it could be of importance."

"I'll tell you what, you can't have them unless the police come in with a warrant, but until then I'll answer some of your questions if you'll answer a few of mine. Deal?"

Sherlock frowned again. "That's not why I'm here."

"Nevertheless, if you want my cooperation, you'll indulge me." Dr. Madison set his mouth in a stubborn line, waiting for his response.

Sherlock hesitated and glanced at the file cabinets briefly before turning back to Madison.

"It isn't much of an incentive really," he began. "You can't give me the data in as much detail as what I know is in your files."

Dr. Madison smiled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "I may be getting older Sherlock but I assure you, I remember everything about my patients." For example," he took a deep breath, "you were brought in by your brother no doubt against your will, a fact you greatly resented him for. You're drug of choice was cocaine but even in withdrawal you were one of the most intelligent young men I'd ever met, when I could get you to talk to me that is, which was rare." He paused for a breath. "You exhibited extremely antisocial behavior from the get go, refusing to talk to the others or participate in group and yet you formed a seemingly accidental friendship with Alexandra who was brought in the same day as you. I admit I didn't understand that. You possessed almost no sense of moral responsibility and although you like to let people believe you have no conscience, it is there, even if it is a rather small one. Also, for someone so prone to antisocial behavior, once you let someone into your world, as I observed with Alexandra, you could be remarkably loyal."

Dr. Madison took another breath and slowed down. "For lack of a better word, you're a sociopath, albeit a high functioning one."

He grinned smugly at Sherlock and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his large chest with difficulty while the younger man sat in stunned silence.

"Very well," Sherlock spoke after a long moment, "ask your questions."

"Start with the one I already asked." Dr. Madison picked up his pen and began tapping an irregular beat on his desk again.

"What? How am I?" Sherlock shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "That's a rather simple, dull question. No one expects an honest answer or they would never ask."

Dr. Madison tilted his head curiously. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock shook his head, his eyes glinting in annoyance. "You know what I mean. You see it every day. The masses stop each other on the street with an 'oh how are you' or a 'how have you been'. If one of them were to actually tell the truth, to respond with anything other than 'fine' or 'good', the asker wouldn't know what to do with themselves."

The Doctor sighed and shook his head sadly. "Always so cynical Sherlock. If you're simply going to try to get under my skin and be evasive, this arrangement won't work."

"It was your arrangement. I never said I wouldn't be evasive." Sherlock smiled pompously. "If you knew me half as well as you think you do you would have had the foresight to add several stipulations to our agreement."

"Yes thank you Sherlock," Dr. Madison began peevishly. "I'd forgotten how insufferable you could be. Now just answer the damn question!"

Sherlock grinned widely. "I'm fine… how are you?"

Dr. Madison grunted in irritation. "We'll move on… Relapse rates among cocaine users average ninety-four to ninety-nine percent in most cases, the most difficult addiction to manage just behind heroin. Have you had any relapses in the past eight years?"

"I don't even smoke anymore," Sherlock spoke indignantly, the grin immediately transforming into a frown.

"That's not an answer." Dr. Madison stared at him passively and Sherlock met his gaze with a glare of his own before finally turning away.

"Once, several years ago."

"Go on."

"Go on? There's nothing to 'go on' about. I wasn't working, I had nothing going on, I still had all my old numbers… it just happened," he growled bitterly.

"Yes, boredom always was your trigger. Any cravings now?"

Sherlock scoffed and sank back into his chair. "Every day," he answered quietly.

"How are you managing it?"

"It's tolerable," he sighed, "when I'm working."

"And when you're not working?"

Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest and shot Dr. Madison a look that clearly said he would say no more on the subject.

"Alright," Madison accepted quietly, finally letting his pen rest on his desk. He eyed Sherlock speculatively for a short instant before asking his next question.

"How did you feel, seeing Alexandra again?"

He stood up so suddenly that Dr. Madison jerked backwards in surprise and was forced to stare up at him. Sherlock began pacing quickly, his face barely flushed and his body rigid with anger.

"No, it's my turn now. Did Alexandra ever return for her post rehab counseling?" he asked testily, grasping his hands behind his back as he continued to pace.

Dr. Madison shook his head, his eyes suddenly weary as they followed Sherlock's rapid movement. "No, she didn't want to be here any more than you did. Once she was released, I never saw her again."

"Did she ever mention anyone specific during her sessions? Her family, friends?"

"No, but she did like to talk about you quite a bit."

Sherlock's gait visibly faltered but he quickly recovered and made another turn around the small room.

"You inspected all of the patient's incoming and outgoing post. Was she in regular correspondence with anyone?"

He shook his head again. "She never even received a care package from her family, and before you ask, no, she never had any visitors."

"Who paid her fees then?" Sherlock asked in confusion.

"Believe it or not, they were all anonymously paid. An account had been set up in her name with regular transfers during her stay." Dr. Madison paused, his brow furrowing in contemplation. "I always assumed she came from some wealthy, prominent family that was upset by her… situation and wanted to sweep her under the rug, so to speak."

"How was she admitted?"

"Again, anonymous call, but… would you stop your bloody pacing, you're going to wear a rut into my floor!"

Sherlock stopped finally, next to the file cabinets and the room's only window. He splayed his hands out on the top of one of the cabinets, stirring up a small amount of dust as he stared blankly out the window.

"Thank you," Dr. Madison grumbled, rubbing his left temple as a headache began to blossom. "As I was saying, you know she was brought in by two of my staff, you were being admitted yourself at the time. Don't you remember?"

"I remember," Sherlock stated quietly as he continued to gaze out the window.

He could recall it so well it formed an almost perfect picture in his mind: he was slumped in a chair, legs drawn up to his chest in that ice-box of a waiting room, in the middle of the night while his brother stood patiently at the receptionists desk in an impeccable suit, pen scratching away loudly at the forms…

_Mycroft Holmes filled out the appropriate paperwork in detail, glancing over his shoulder at his younger brother frequently as though he expected Sherlock to make a run for it, but he had barely moved._

_He was painfully thin, hair cropped close to his head, and his bloodshot eyes stared, unfocused, at the ceiling. His right hand pressed a bloodied tissue to his nose in an unenthusiastic attempt to quell his most recent nosebleed._

_Mycroft sighed and turned back to the forms, silently wondering how he was ever going to keep this from their mother._

_An unexpected crash sounded from behind him and Mycroft's pen slid over the paper, leaving an angry line that marred his otherwise perfect penmanship. He turned quickly, half expecting to have to tackle Sherlock on his way out the door but his brother hadn't moved. He had, however, tilted his head away from the ceiling and Mycroft followed his gaze to the rehabs front doors._

_They had been thrown open and a young woman, who couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen years old, was practically being dragged in by two men in scrubs._

_She was thin, her dirty clothes hanging loosely off her frame, and her eyelids were heavy but not entirely closed. She slumped as though deflated and stayed perfectly still as the men bypassed the reception area and carried her through the waiting room._

_If it weren't for the fact that Mycroft and Sherlock had seen her eyelids flutter and heard her mumbling, they would have thought she was dead._

_Mycroft picked up the pen again but turned back to Sherlock who had followed the small group's progression through the lobby. He smiled somewhat as he held his brother's gaze._

"_You see Sherlock, you're not the only one to have hit rock bottom tonight."_

"Sherlock? Are you going to get that?"

Sherlock blinked and turned away from the window to face Dr. Madison. "What?" he muttered in bewilderment.

The Doctor stood behind his desk with a concerned look on his face and pointed to Sherlock's jacket pocket where his phone was chirping loudly.

He reached into his jacket as realization hit him and pulled out the phone.

"Sherlock Holmes," he answered tersely.

"There's been another one," Lestrade's tinny voice replied quickly, dispensing with any pretense.

Sherlock lowered his voice and turned away from Dr. Madison slightly. "What, at the hospital?"

"No but…"

"Alexandra is still at the hospital, yes?"

"Yes but…"

"Then it can't be related," he said hastily.

Lestrade sighed and even through the phone Sherlock could sense that he was exhausted.

"I assure you, it's related. I'm texting you the address. Get over here."

Sherlock pulled the phone from his ear as Lestrade hung up and waited for the tell-tell beep that would indicate Lestrade's text. It came in a matter of seconds and he glanced at it briefly before stuffing the phone in his coat pocket.

"I have to go."

"Of course. Police business I assume."

Sherlock nodded briskly in response and headed towards the office door.

"Wait, I'll walk you out," Dr. Madison spoke quickly but Sherlock was already in the corridor and he had to almost run to keep up with the taller man's agile stride.

He caught up to him in the waiting room and stopped Sherlock abruptly by grabbing his arm.

"There could… be a reason… you two have met again… after so long an absence," Dr. Madison stammered, trying to catch his breath. "Don't forget that… some might call it kismet."

Sherlock glanced at him in irritation and wrenched his arm from the Doctor's grasp.

"There's no such thing," he called back over his shoulder as he hurried out the door. "Only coincidence."

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**What did you think of the flashback? Did it feel out of place in the story?**

**Oh and I promise this will eventually be a romance! I'm trying really hard to not take Sherlock out of character though, which means it may take a little while longer.**

**Please review and let me know what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to those that reviewed! Here's the new chapter, hope you enjoy...**

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The rain was falling in torrents, thunder rumbling and lightening streaking across the sky, as the cab slowed to a stop across the street from the crime scene. Sherlock peered out the window; eyes squinted as he attempted to survey his surroundings through the heavy downpour.

He appeared to be in an extremely rundown part of the city. All of the homes were dilapidated and close together but he had no trouble spotting the home he was looking for. More police than were necessary milled on the small lawn, forming an unorganized line to ward away the many gawkers. From their state of dress they appeared to be homeless and the police were having a hard time keeping them from the house.

Sherlock leaned back as his breath began fogging up the window and rustled in his pocket for money to pay the cabbie. His hand came back with only his phone and he groaned inwardly. He'd used the last of his cash for the cab ride to Three Elms. He glanced up at the driver quickly before returning them to the phone in his hand, his suspicions confirmed.

The cab driver was watching him carefully as though he expected Sherlock to make a run for it, even with all the police around.

He pressed a button on the phone and the screen lit up. Sherlock frowned. He had texted John when he left the rehab, telling him to meet him here but he still hadn't responded.

Sherlock looked out the window again, his brain racing for an answer, and smiled mischievously when he saw Anderson force his way through the onlookers with a sneer and step onto the pavement. He cupped a cigarette in one hand, attempting to shield it from the rain.

Sherlock turned back to the cabbie, the smile still in place. "I seem to have forgotten my wallet," he spoke pleasantly as the cabbie's eyes narrowed in the overhead mirror, "but I've just texted my friend and he's coming to lend me money for the fare."

He gestured to Anderson, standing in the downpour directly across from the cab. Sherlock opened the car door just enough for his arm to fit through.

"Anderson!" he called out loudly and stuck his hand into the cold rain, waving it slightly.

The forensics analyst straightened and gazed across the street, his unoccupied hand at his brow to shield his eyes from the rain. His face was a mask of confusion but he waved back stupidly and began crossing the street.

"You see, here he comes now," Sherlock spoke to the cabbie quickly and jumped out of the car. He rushed past Anderson who stopped and gaped after him in surprise. When he was safely across the street, Sherlock chanced a glance over his shoulder. The cabbie had followed him into the rain and was now arguing with Anderson in the middle of the street.

Sherlock smiled and turned, pushing his way through the throng of homeless people. The police officers recognized him and stepped aside to let him through. His gaze swept over the lawn to where several ambulances had been parked to the left of the house. Several paramedics were loading a few shabbily dressed men inside while the police questioned others nearby.

His eyes fell on the house itself and his breath hitched in his throat. It was practically destroyed, with large gaping holes in the front. Steam arose all around it from where the rain pelted the still singeing house, filling the air with an unpleasant odor of damp, charred wood. Even amidst the destruction he could still tell that the house had been ready to fall apart before it was ravaged by fire.

He caught a glimpse of Lestrade through one of the holes and made his way into the building, completely ignoring an annoyed looking Donovan in the process.

The damage was more complete than the previous two fires, the walls completely blackened and crumbling. The ceiling had caved in in places and Sherlock could see through to the second floor, and, in some sections, all the way up to the storm clouds above them. The entire effect was surreal, giving the eerie appearance that it was raining in isolated sections of the home.

Lestrade turned when he entered but Sherlock was preoccupied examining the house, and the DI waited patiently for him to finish.

The front room was long and wide, an old, burnt sofa with the stuffing falling out and a clean but slightly singed circular rug, the room's only furnishings. He stared at the rug curiously for a moment before his eyes finally rested on the bodies.

There were five badly burnt figures laying to the far left of the room near the crumbling staircase. They were all arranged in a straight line and Sherlock strode over to them, immediately frowning in anger.

"You shouldn't have let Anderson move the bodies," Sherlock spoke quietly as he felt Lestrade step up next to him.

The DI sighed and rubbed his eyes. "How did you know it was Anderson?"

Sherlock scoffed. "His disgustingly musky cologne and the stench of tobacco are all over them."

"Yes, well they were all on the upper level and Anderson was worried the ceiling would give way more," Lestrade sighed.

Sherlock stared down at them discerningly, his mouth set in a stubborn line. "It would have been better to let them fall through and land naturally than to have let Anderson touch them."

"But we can't have… oh never mind," Lestrade trailed off as the odd image of falling corpses popped into his head.

Sherlock squatted down next to the bodies, covering his mouth with his coat sleeve as his eyes raked over them. They weren't burnt as badly as Thomas Wellington. Where his skin had been blackened and flaky, these were reddened and blistered with large cracks in the skin as though it were peeling away. Most of their clothes, while badly charred, were still intact and Sherlock counted four men and one woman.

He stood abruptly and stuck his hands in his pockets before glancing over his shoulder at the oddly placed rug again.

Lestrade followed his gaze with a puzzled expression. "Well?" he asked after a long moment.

"Four men and one woman," Sherlock mumbled, staring at the corpses at his feet again.

"I already know that, what else have you got?"

"From the number of homeless on the lawn and street, I'd say the house and probably the entire area was abandoned a long time ago and they've been seeking refuge here."

Lestrade nodded. "This part of town is predominantly filled with squatters."

"But this particular house is also a drug den," Sherlock continued. He pointed to the bodies. "These five were heroin users."

Lestrade glanced down. "How can you tell?"

"There," Sherlock gestured to the upper arm of the first man. "If you look closely you'll see the rubber cord they used as a tourniquet to expose the vein. It's melted into their flesh. And these three were homeless, but these two," he gestured to the man and woman on the end, "were not. The man shaved today and the fabric of their clothing is far too expensive."

"They could be recently homeless, these are hard times after all," Lestrade spoke quietly but Sherlock shook his head.

"No, look at the woman's watch. That model is less than a year old and very pricey. It would be the first thing she's pawn for a bit of cash. I suppose she could have stolen it and not gotten around to selling it yet but the lack of grime under her fingernails would suggest otherwise. No, these two weren't homeless, just addicts. This is where they would come for a fix."

"What, together?"

"Yes."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"Their wedding bands are a matching set."

Lestrade's eyes widened. "Oh."

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder again and Lestrade eyed him curiously.

"Where's the cryptic message?" Sherlock asked suddenly, turning towards the DI.

Lestrade sighed. "There isn't one… not exactly."

"You said it was related. There has to be a message, where is it?" he asked testily.

Lestrade exhaled slowly. "You're not going to like it." He turned on his heels sharply and Sherlock followed him to the other side of the room where the old couch sat.

He saw it instantly.

There in the middle of the scorched wall was a single photograph. Sherlock's eyes widened and he reached out a hand, stopping just short of the picture.

"I trust this has already been dusted for fingerprints," he breathed.

"Go ahead," Lestrade nodded.

Sherlock plucked it from the wall with nimble fingers and stared at it intently. It was unmistakable. He was looking at a photograph of Alexandra lying in the same hospital room at St. Bart's. Her eyes were closed and her right arm was bandaged. It was all just as he had seen with his own eyes earlier in the day. He squinted and brought the picture closer to his face.

"The IV's not in place," he mumbled.

"What?" Lestrade questioned.

"The IV. This was taken after we left a few hours ago. After I removed her IV," Sherlock spoke quietly.

"So he took this photograph and then what… raced over here and stuck it to the wall before setting the place ablaze?" Lestrade asked.

"It would appear so," Sherlock whispered as he continued to stare at the image in his hand before finally meeting Lestrade's eyes in anger. "Are you're people all idiots or do you not even have someone watching her room?"

Lestrade opened his mouth to protest but Sherlock cut him off.

"You'd think that having someone try to murder you, TWICE, would merit some sort of security," he added harshly.

"I've already replaced the officer I had on her room, alright?"

Sherlock glowered and turned back to the photograph. "Anything from the security tapes at the club?" he asked after a long moment.

Lestrade sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, they were gone. Stolen."

"Of course," Sherlock responded softly, almost smiling.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES!"

Lestrade jumped as Anderson entered the home, his face red and contorted in indignation. He hurried, his posture stiff with anger, across the room, crossing over the rug as he came and Sherlock's gaze dropped to it again, his face serious.

"Anderson what are you yelling about?" Lestrade cautioned loudly.

"That bloody psychopath," he began, thrusting a pointed hand in Sherlock's direction, "owes me thirty pounds!"

"What are you talking…?"

"Did you hear that?" Sherlock asked suddenly, to no one in particular.

Lestrade stopped and listened for a moment. "I don't hear anything."

"Of course you don't hear anything," Anderson started again, "because he's insane!"

"Anderson shut up!" Lestrade turned to Sherlock. "What do you hear?"

Sherlock didn't answer. Instead he walked towards the rug, passing over it just as Anderson had.

Lestrade's eyes widened at the slight creaking of the boards beneath it and he hurried over. He and Sherlock stared at each other for a moment before coming to a silent agreement. Together they knelt down and pulled the rug back. It wasn't hard to see that the board beneath it had recently been pried up.

Excitement got the better of Sherlock and he felt his pulse speed up. He didn't wait for Lestrade's permission and reached down, pulling up the loose board.

They both stared down at a slowly blinking light for a split second before jumping to their feet.

"OUT! Everyone out now!" Lestrade yelled at the top of his lungs as he and Sherlock raced to the door, trusting that Anderson and the others would follow.

Sherlock ran back into the rain, his heart beating frantically, and headed for the street.

"Get back, everyone back!" Sherlock heard Lestrade shout from somewhere to his left but everyone stared in dumb surprise.

He growled and grabbed the arms of the two persons nearest him, Sally and a homeless man, and dragged them with him as the house exploded behind them.

Sherlock felt his feet leave the ground and lost his grip on the others arms as he was thrown into the street. He hit the pavement with a thud and instinctively brought his arms over his head as debris landed around him.

All of the air left his lungs upon impact and he lay in a dazed stupor for a moment as chaos erupted around him.

He finally stood up shakily and brought a hand to the side of his head. It came away wet and sticky. He stared at it for a long moment, waiting for his eyes to focus, and the bright red of his own blood startled him.

Someone bumped into him suddenly, turning him towards the house, and reality came rushing back.

It was impossibly loud, cries and shouts coming from every direction, homeless men and women and police lying still on the ground while others ran around with seemingly no purpose. But Sherlock didn't bother with any of them.

He coughed and peered through the smoke, pushing people out of his way until he found what he was looking for.

Lestrade lay on the ground a good distance from the newly burning house and Sherlock knelt in the grass next to him. He pulled the DI into a sitting position by his lapels.

"Are you alright?" he asked quickly, eyes scanning for injuries.

Lestrade groaned and turned to the side, coughing into the grass. "I think so."

"Good." Sherlock stood up quickly, pulling Lestrade with him. "We have to get to the hospital."

"I know." Lestrade's voice was gruff and Sherlock had to steady him with a hand on his arm. "We have to get these people to the hospital."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, you don't understand. We have to get to St. Bart's. He's going after Alexandra again. This was about getting us out of the way."

Lestrade's eyes widened in comprehension. "I can't just leave Sherlock…"

"Like hell you can't!" He turned towards the road, pulling Lestrade with him. "Where's your car?"

Lestrade shook himself free of Sherlock's grip. "I've got to take care of this Sherlock, but I'll send someone." He turned to see Sally limping towards them. "Sally, grab an officer and get to St. Bart's. Alexandra Claymore's room. Take Sherlock with you."

She stopped suddenly and opened her mouth to argue but Lestrade cut her off.

"That's an order Sally," he barked loudly and marched back into the chaos, shouting instructions.

Donovan and Sherlock stared at each other for a short moment before he reached out and grasped the arm of the nearest officer.

"You're coming with us. Lestrade's orders."

The young man looked confused and turned to Sergeant Donovan for confirmation.

"He's right," she admitted grumpily. "We'll take your car."

He still looked confused but turned and began walking towards the street.

Sally gestured for Sherlock to go first. "After you freak," she said tiredly.

He stepped forward suddenly and gripped her upper arms, digging in with his fingers slightly. Her mouth fell open in surprise and he spoke quickly and quietly before she could fight him off.

"I know you despise me Sally… and I couldn't care less about you. But you will not let your hatred of me interfere with your job." He shook her gently, making sure he had her attention. "Someone's life could depend on it."

He released her just as suddenly as he'd grabbed her and hurried to where the officer was waiting by his car, the rain finally coming to an end.

* * *

**I'm going out of town for a little while to visit some friends so there may not be another update for over a week...**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed that! Please review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**SO, SO sorry for the delay! Life has been unbelievably hectic lately! This chapter has been half-way done for the last month and I finally found the time to finish it... hope you enjoy! **

**Oh, and thanks to everyone that read and reviewed! It means a lot!**

* * *

Alexandra stirred restlessly in her hospital bed, the heavy patter of rain pelting the room's single window. She forced her gaze from the gloomy spectacle and sighed as she sunk back down into the uncomfortable pillows. Her dour and unpleasant nurse had elevated the head of her bed so she could see the entire room at her request, but it was doing little to assuage her nerves and her eyes narrowed at every shadow that passed beneath the closed door.

She sighed again and brought her unburned hand to scrub gently at her eyes, wincing at the slight pain in her arm. She looked down at where the IV had been and frowned. A purplish-red bruise had formed at the crook of her arm where the needle had pierced her skin. Alex shuddered at the thought and was immensely glad for its absence, though it had been a fight to convince her doctor and the nurse to leave it out. In the end they had to agree that she had the right to refuse anything, no matter how "pig-headed and dense" it made her, as the disagreeable nurse had put it. Instead, the nurse would come in at regular intervals to administer an oral medication which only managed to dull the pain a bit. But she knew she could live through the continuous severe ache of her right arm and the pounding in her skull. Whether or not she could live with a needle in her arm was another matter entirely.

There was a sharp knock at the door and it swung inward quickly. Alex felt her shoulders tense for a moment until she saw that it was only the nurse with her antibiotics and pain reliever.

The plump old woman smiled but it didn't reach her eyes and Alex could tell it was forced. She moved rapidly about the room, stopping first to hand Alex a small cup with two pills, before busying herself with the equipment.

The pills went down easily and Alex smiled, opening her mouth wide at the nurse's skeptical and discerning gaze as though to say "see, I'm taking it, not hiding them under my tongue." Every since Sherlock had harassed the woman about the IV and let slip her heroin addiction, the old woman couldn't seem to stop glancing at her suspiciously.

The nurse frowned and moved around the bed to examine the burns on the right side of her body. Much of her arm was left unwrapped now, the skin tight, blistered and red where it had begun to scab over. There were still portions that were too badly burned and had to be bandaged, however. The entire effect made her look like some sort of ridiculously underdressed mummy.

She winced as the nurse rewrapped her upper thigh a little too forcefully and the old woman glanced up, an almost apologetic look on her face, before finishing. She patted the blanket next to Alex's leg absently for a moment and looked as though she might actually say something, but only nodded matter-of-factly and left the room.

Alexandra sighed and shifted in the bed fruitlessly, in search of a comfortable position.

Alone again, her mind, with nothing mundane to occupy it, began to drift toward those topics she'd been desperately trying to avoid.

She had absolutely no idea what was going on or who would be doing these things to her. Alex had never thought of herself as boring and uninvolved, but since she'd left rehab all those years ago she'd kept her had down, associating with as few people as possible, in an attempt to stay clean. She worked odd jobs, never staying in the same place for too long before moving on. She was constantly reinventing herself as she flitted from place to place.

And then she'd met Charles.

She'd been serving at a small diner in the north when he'd come in for lunch with some friends. She could tell at first glance that they were businessmen, and wealthy ones by the expensive way they were dressed.

To say she was surprised when he started up a conversation with her would be an understatement. When he'd asked for her number she'd been even more dumbfounded, but she'd given it to him eagerly. Alex assumed he'd wanted a fling, which she was more than happy to oblige him with, he was, after all, handsome and polite and it had been far too long since she'd been with anyone… but it had turned into so much more…

Alex blinked repeatedly and shook her head in an attempt to stop the unshed tears from escaping.

She wouldn't think about it, not now. With years of practice she forced those feelings away and refocused her mind until only one thought remained.

Sherlock.

Her initial shock at seeing him again after so long had faded and now she was simply confused. What was he doing showing up at the remains of Wellington's flat like that? Was he actually working with the police? The Sherlock she had known had little to no respect for authority and if someone had told her then that he would now be working with the police she would have laughed. No. It seemed more likely that they were the ones working with him.

He'd always had a mind for puzzles and was still the most blatantly observant person she'd ever met, but, she had to admit, this wasn't where she thought he'd end up.

He looked good though. Better, in fact, than she remembered. He'd gained some weight, even if it was only a little, and he didn't look so painfully thin and stretched. He'd grown his hair out too and let it hang in unruly curls. It was unsophisticated and childish but is suited him and somehow managed to soften the harsh planes of his face. She definitely preferred it to the short buzz he'd had the brief time they had known each other.

Alex smiled as she remembered. She'd always been slightly frustrated when she'd slide her hands over his hair and there was nothing to hold on to. She definitely wouldn't have that problem now…

She was startled out of her musings by a sharp knocking sound. She looked up in alarm, cursing under her breath when she saw the nurse had left the door ajar.

The door swung inward to reveal John Watson and Alex sighed, noticeably relieved.

"Alright if I come in?" he asked politely and Alex nodded, her eyes drifting to the small store bought bouquet of flowers in his hand.

He shut the door behind him quietly and walked to the side of her bed as she sat up a little straighter, repositioning the light blanket as she did.

"How are you feeling?" He paused and held out the flowers awkwardly. "Oh, these are for you."

"You didn't have to do that John," she responded carefully. "Wait, let me make room for them," she joked as her hands mimed rearranging things on the empty surface of the bedside table.

"I see mine are the first… have your friends and family not been to see you yet?" He questioned nonchalantly as he set the flowers down.

Alex froze and looked up at him sharply. After a short moment a knowing grin spread across her face.

"Oh you're clever John. More clever that Sherlock probably gives you credit for."

John feigned confusion and sank into the chair near her bed. "Thanks, I guess."

Alex shook her head, the smile still in place. "Come on then, out with it… Sherlock told you to gather information about me and you brought flowers because you knew I wouldn't have any others and you could ask why."

John tensed slightly. "Is it hard for you to believe I brought them to make you feel better?"

Alexandra's smile dimmed a bit as she mulled over his words. "As much as I'd like to believe you, I don't."

They stared at each other a moment before John shrugged and looked away. "You're right, Sherlock asked me to look into your past," he admitted.

"And what have you found?"

"Nothing yet," John smiled lightly, "I thought I'd go straight to the source first."

Alex chuckled softly. "Oh Sherlock won't like that. He'd tell you not to believe a word I say."

"Why would he tell me that?"

"Because he doesn't trust me," Alex answered quickly.

John leaned forward slightly. "Should he?"

Alex's gaze fell to her lap as she grew serious and plucked at a stray fiber on the blanket. She didn't answer his question but after a prolonged silence she met his gaze again, her mouth set in a determined line.

"If it helps Sherlock figure out what the hell is going on, I'll answer any question you've got… within reason of course."

He nodded swiftly, satisfied with her response, and produced a small notepad and pen from his pocket. He flipped to the first empty page and positioned the pen over paper as he looked back up at her.

"My, my, aren't we thorough. Does Sherlock make you type them out afterwards?" she teased.

John cleared his throat and blushed slightly but wisely chose to ignore her.

"Right then, who is doing this to you?"

Alex stared at him incredulously and he sheepishly smiled back.

"It was worth a shot."

She stared at him for a moment longer before addressing him somberly.

"John, you don't really know me, but you have to believe me when I say that if I knew who was behind this I would tell you. I just want this to stop."

John nodded tersely. "I believe you."

"Good," Alex sighed. "So what do you want to know? Where should I start?"

He shifted towards her in his chair. "At the beginning, I suppose."

Alexandra smiled softly, almost conspiratorially, as her gaze dropped to the blanket in her lap. "'Where shall I begin, please your Majesty?' he asked. 'Begin at the beginning,' the King said gravely, 'and go on till you come to the end: then stop,'" she breathed, more to herself than to John.

He blinked in surprise. "Is that something you do, quote from children's novels?"

She scoffed and raised her gaze from her lap. "It's hardly a children's novel, the things that man wrote about… trust me, Carroll was a drug addict."

"Alex…"

"I read it in rehab actually," she interrupted him. "It was oddly comforting, knowing that someone could create something so bizarre and beautiful…"

"Alex!" John raised his voice and her eyes widened in surprise. "You're stalling."

She smiled slightly and shook her head. "Sorry, habit… perhaps if you could ask specific questions I could try to stay on topic."

"Very well," John glanced at the notepad in his hand briefly. "Where did you go when you left rehab?"

"Nowhere really. I moved around a lot, worked when I could find it."

"Where did you stay?"

"Shelters mostly, hostels when I had a little cash," Alex replied dispassionately. "On the street, if there was no other option." She watched as John's eyes widened but he didn't comment as his pen scratched back and forth across the paper.

"What about friends? You couldn't stay with any of them?"

Alex smiled sadly. "Any friends I had before rehab were junkies John. They weren't my friends anymore."

He cleared his throat. "Any family? Where were they?"

Alex sighed again. "Probably the same place I imagine they are right now… at their estate."

"Why not go to them for help?"

Her head moved rapidly from side to side. "No, no, no. That relationship was over years before I went to rehab. I did try to contact them once, soon after I got out, but they didn't want anything to do with me. I didn't fit into their idea of what was proper anymore."

"I'm sorry," John spoke solemnly, his eyes rising from the paper in his lap.

She shook her head again. "Don't be. I'm not that person anymore." Alex tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. "I think they were behind me being forced into rehab in the first place though. No one could tell me who was paying for everything but it had to be them right? I'm grateful to them for that and if they want me to stay away, I'll respect that."

John nodded and glanced back down at his sheet. "So when did you stop moving around then?"

Alex's expression grew even more somber as she avoided John's gaze. After a long moment she answered him quietly.

"When I met Charles."

"Your first husband?"

"My only husband," she replied defensively. "Tom wasn't anything… well you know."

"Of course… tell me about Charles."

"You sound like a therapist," Alex grumbled in response. "I don't see how any of this will help Sherlock or the police."

John shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "You never know what will help Sherlock really. He can draw correlations between things that most normal people would never be able to see." He paused, considering. "At any rate, it couldn't hurt."

Alexandra looked as though she'd like to argue with him, that it would very much hurt, but instead she exhaled slowly and sank into her pillow.

"Fine, what do you want to know?"

"How did you meet him?"

"I was working one of my odd jobs, waitressing, and he came in for lunch with friends."

"And you hit it off." It wasn't really a question but Alex nodded, her face lighting up suddenly.

"He was unlike anyone I'd ever known. So full of life… and happy. He was so happy. It was infectious."

John smiled and nodded encouragingly. "What was his profession?"

"He was the CFO of his friend's company. He had an amazing way with numbers."

"What was the company?" John asked as he scribbled something into his notepad.

"Smythe Shipping. Named for Charlie's friend, John Smythe. I never really got that involved but from what I understood they imported and exported quite a bit for local merchants."

"And how long were you together?" John cringed as Alex's face fell.

"We'd only known each other for four months before we got married. We lived together for three years after that… until he got sick."

John paused as he considered his next question. "Is it too much to ask what happened?"

"Why stop now," Alex spat snidely. "I've already told you what no one else knows. It was cancer. Pancreatic. He'd apparently been living with it for quite some time but by the time symptoms presented themselves it was too late. He was gone within the week."

"I'm so sorry Alex."

She shook her head for the umpteenth time that day and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, effectively brushing away the few tears that had managed to escape.

"There was nothing to be done, so I did what I do best… move. I packed a few things and came here a little over a year ago. Then I met Tom and we became friends. He knew I didn't have any money so he came to me with that ridiculous plan and well… you know the rest."

"Yes I… wait," John stopped suddenly, his expression a cross between confusion and thoughtfulness. "Why didn't you have any money?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your husband had just died and you said he was the CFO of a business that I'm assuming was lucrative… you should have been left with something."

Alexandra frowned and sat up straighter in the hospital bed. "There was a bit but it didn't last very long. Like I said before, it all happened so suddenly and it turned out Charlie never updated his will after we were married. Most of his money went to his parents or back into the business. I tried to fight it for awhile but his parents hired solicitors."

"Did you not get along with them?"

"Not particularly. They thought we had rushed into things. I'm sure it didn't help that Charlie told them about my past."

"But still," John began slowly, "it all seems a bit odd, don't you think?"

Alex opened her mouth to protest but she wasn't given the chance.

Without warning, the door to her room flew open and slammed into the wall with a loud bang. They stared, speechless, at Sherlock framed in the doorway, his right hand holding the door flush against the wall.

His eyes were wide and there was a redness to his normally pale face, as though he'd been moving in a hurry. Dried blood was streaked across his face from a large gash above his left eyebrow and Alex could see that some of the blood had dried in his hair, plastering a single curl to the side of his forehead.

After what seemed like an eternity but was only a matter of seconds, Sherlock blinked and spoke calmly, his tone completely belying his disheveled appearance.

"You're fine."

Just as abruptly as he entered, Sherlock disappeared, turning sharply on his heels and striding down the hallway, leaving Alex and John to gape at the now empty space.

A short moment later Sergeant Donovan took his place, her breathing labored. She took one look at Alex, laying safely in her bed, and rolled her eyes.

"Complete waste of time," Sally muttered as she too departed hastily.

Alexandra and John's heads snapped back to each other in unison, both pairs of eyes still wide from the sudden shock.

John blinked twice and stood up. "I, should… um," he stammered as he carelessly shoved the notepad and pen back into his pocket. "Excuse me," he spoke finally and hurried in the direction Sherlock had gone, shutting the door behind him quietly.

Alex watched him go with mounting frustration.

"What is going on?" she whispered to herself, once again alone in the cold room.

* * *

**Hope that wasn't boring what with all the exposition but it's necessary so I thought I'd get it out of the way...**

**Another rehab flashback next chapter!**

**Please leave me a review and let me know what you think!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello! Sorry for the extremely long delay... my laptop died unexpectantly and I lost EVERYTHING! With the holidays and all I was just able to afford a new one and then I had to start this chapter from scratch. I know, I know, excuses, excuses right? Anyway, thanks to all that reviewed. I love hearing from you! Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

John hurried down the hospital corridor, his footsteps echoing loudly as he tried to match Sherlock's longer gait.

"Sherlock!" he shouted for the third time as the taller man rounded a corner as though he hadn't heard.

John grumbled something under his breath and continued after him, ignoring the strange looks they were given by the hospital staff.

Sherlock rounded another corner and John finally realized where they were headed with such purpose; the lab.

Curiosity got the better of John and spurred him on faster. He tried calling out to Sherlock one more time with no response and slowed down a bit when he felt an unpleasant twinge in his leg. He may not have used his cane for quite some time, and he may have finally accepted that his limp was psychosomatic, but John could swear it still hurt sometimes.

He caught up to Sherlock just as he was removing his coat in the lab.

Sherlock folded it over the back of a chair and John glanced at it briefly, noticing for the first time that it was filthy and torn, with bits of leaves stuck to it.

"Sherlock, what is going on?" John asked loudly.

Sherlock turned and regarded him finally, his expression slightly affronted, as though by John's very presence.

"What happened to your coat?" he continued. "And do you know you've got a bloody large gash on your head?"

Sherlock's eyes widened almost imperceptibly and he lifted a hand to his face, wincing when his fingers came into contact with the wound.

"I had forgotten," he replied calmly, turning his back to John and pressing his eye to the end of a microscope.

"What happened?" John sighed and fell into the nearest chair wearily.

"Bomb," Sherlock spoke quietly, his face never leaving the microscope.

John didn't even flinch and he took a moment to ponder just what that said about him exactly. Finally, he exhaled and rubbed at his temple where a headache was beginning to blossom.

"It never stops does it?" John asked tiredly.

"You love it," Sherlock replied matter-of-factly and John almost smiled.

"No _you _love it. I somehow manage to get dragged along and it's positively exhausting."

"Keep telling yourself that John, maybe you'll start to believe it." Sherlock spun around suddenly, making John jump. "Where is your phone?" he demanded.

"What?" John reacted in startled confusion.

"Your phone. I've texted you twenty-seven times and you didn't respond to any of them."

John reached a hand into his pocket as his eyes widened. "It's um…," he stammered as his hand came up empty. "I must have forgotten it."

Sherlock pursed his lips in disgust and turned back to the microscope.

"Sherlock what is going on?" John repeated.

"If you had your phone like you should, you'd know," he retorted petulantly.

"Yes, well I don't, so you're going to have to tell me."

Sherlock sighed and rifled through some papers on the desk as he spoke. "There was another fire, an abandoned house on the outskirts of town. A regular meeting place for drug users. There was a photograph of Alexandra that was taken at this hospital on the wall and an explosive device under the floorboards."

John's mouth fell open as he began to understand. "So… you assumed that she was the real target… that the fire was only a distraction and hurried back here." Sherlock nodded and John continued. "But she's fine. There's an officer on her door at all times and she didn't mention anything suspicious happening, which means…"

"We're being toyed with," Sherlock finished for him. "It's a game, which changes things considerably."

"How does it change anything?"

"Less rules… more fun," Sherlock smiled and John shook his head in exasperation but didn't comment.

Sherlock turned to the microscope again and John left his chair to see what the taller man was looking at.

"What are you doing?"

Sherlock stepped aside. "Have a look."

John leaned forward and peered into the instrument. "A blood smear… Alex's I presume."

"What do you see?" Sherlock asked nonchalantly.

"Other than the fact that she must have a slight iron deficiency, I don't see anything amiss."

"Exactly."

John stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean 'exactly'?"

"She said she only had one drink that night but that she couldn't remember anything. I was certain she'd been given Rohypnol…"

"What, the date rape drug?" John exclaimed.

"Yes, but there's nothing," Sherlock gestured towards the microscope.

John tilted his head in thought for a moment. "But Rohypnol can be difficult to detect, especially in the blood. The body clears it out too quickly."

"I know," Sherlock spoke rapidly, his tone slightly aggravated. "That's why I had them get me a urine sample as well."

"And?"

"Nothing."

John frowned, his forehead wrinkled in thought. "But why would she lie? What purpose does it serve?"

"That, Doctor Watson, is what I am trying to deduce." Sherlock turned abruptly and grabbed his coat off the chair, shaking it forcefully so that tiny bits of dirt and leaves showered the floor, before sliding it on.

"I hope you're going to A and E," John called loudly as Sherlock made to leave.

"What?" Sherlock turned to face him and John pointed at the taller man's head.

"That needs looking at."

"It's nothing."

"Yeah well, I'm a doctor and I say it's something. You probably need stitches."

John was surprised and slightly relieved when Sherlock didn't put up anymore of a fight and allowed John to usher him down the long corridor towards the more crowded wing of the hospital.

"What were you doing here," Sherlock asked apathetically, breaking the silence as they neared A and E.

"Oh come off it Sherlock," John grumbled as they pushed through a pair of double doors in the hallway, "you know exactly what I'm doing here… it's what you asked me to do."

"Hmmm… and if I'd known you'd go to Alexandra for information about her past instead of doing actual research, I would never have given you the task."

John stopped abruptly, forcing Sherlock to do the same.

"She said almost exactly the same thing… I'd really like to know why you don't trust her."

Sherlock smiled slightly and continued walking. "And I'd really like to know why you're so ready to believe everything she says," he called over his shoulder and disappeared around a corner, trusting that John would follow.

* * *

Her throat was painfully dry.

It was the first thought that registered in Alex's groggy brain as she awoke. Her eyes opened slowly, blinking unpleasantly even though the lights in her room had been dimmed.

The last thing she remembered was the nurse returning after Sherlock and John's abrupt departure. She had given her her medication and Alexandra assumed, due to the unfocussed and lazy state her mind was in, that the nurse had seen how rattled she was and given her something stronger.

They must have knocked her out not long after she swallowed the large white pills. A quick glance at the clock near the door proved her right… she'd been asleep for almost three hours.

She swallowed and grimaced as she remembered the soreness in her throat and turned towards the bedside table for a glass of water, only to jump in surprise.

Sherlock was sitting in the room's only chair. His eyes were closed and his back was slouched with his long legs sprawled out in front of him and his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

Alex's breath hitched in her throat, the water momentarily forgotten. She couldn't believe she hadn't noticed him sooner and mentally cursed the nurse for upping her dosage without her consent.

She laid back into her pillows as quietly as possible but turned her head slightly to better regard him.

His breathing was slow and even, giving the appearance of sleep, but she knew that when it came to Sherlock, appearances were often deceiving.

She watched the steady rise and fall of his chest for a few minutes before convincing herself that he was indeed asleep, and allowed her gaze to travel upward.

His wound had been tended to and his face was clean of blood, but the area was still red and angry-looking where he had obviously had stitches put in.

Alex sat up in the bed as quietly as possible, watching Sherlock for any signs of movement, but other than his slow breathing, he didn't stir.

A sudden image appeared in her mind, startling her.

He'd looked much the same the first time she'd ever laid eyes on him. The same rigid yet somehow relaxed posture, the bored expression and slow rhythmic breathing. In fact, if it weren't for his eyes being closed and the obvious physical discrepancies, Alexandra could almost believe her memories were manifesting before her very eyes.

The clarity in which she could recall that short period in her life, arguably her most desperate and confusing time, was both surprising and terrifying, and with a certain weary reluctance, Alex allowed herself to surrender to the memory.

_She lay in her bed at Three Elms, staring with unfocused eyes at the white ceiling._

_Alex had lost track of exactly how long she'd been in that room with nothing to keep her company but her own screams and frantic heartbeat, but her rational mind was returning and she knew that what seemed like an eternity couldn't have been more than a week._

_She'd first become aware of her surroundings the previous day when a fat, unpleasantly jovial man had entered and introduced himself as Doctor Madison. Alex had barely spoken to him, her throat constricted and hoarse from days of shouting and vomiting. Her entire body was cold and ached, her skin prickled with goose bumps. She'd barely slept and couldn't believe that this overweight man could stand there and speak so calmly while she felt like death._

_He had explained, in an insipid voice that made her cringe, that what she was feeling was normal. That even the strange spasm in her right leg that caused it to jerk outward for no apparent reason was a symptom of heroin withdrawal. He even told her what she assumed he thought was an amusing anecdote about how the expression "cold turkey" refers to the chills and goose bumps associated with heroin withdrawal._

_For the most part she had stared at his heavy jowls as they bounced up and down, only half registering what he was saying._

_Thankfully, his visit was short._

_On his way out the door, however, he'd informed her that she'd be expected to leave her room and join them for group the next day._

_She pondered all of this as she stared at the ceiling, her leg spasming again and sending a fresh dose of pain through her extremities. She had finally ventured out of her bed a short time before. Her head pounded and her legs almost buckled beneath her, but she managed to make it to the door, only to find it was locked from the outside. She'd stood there for a moment, violently shaking the handle in disbelief. As she'd lain on the bed again the anger washed over her._

_How can they lock me in this room, she thought. How can they keep me here against my will!_

_She allowed her anger to seep into every inch of her body and warm it. And for a short time it filled the emptiness, the need, the cravings, that her body and mind had grown accustomed to, had grown to depend on._

_But soon the anger abated and she was left empty again, painfully numb._

_They were right to lock her door, she knew it. If she had found it unlocked she wouldn't have stopped until she was free._

_A sharp knock sounded on the door and it swung inward without waiting for a response. An attractive young man, whom she judged to be in his mid twenties, entered._

_Alex sat up quickly. A little too quickly, forcing her to close her eyes as the small room swam around her. When she opened them again the male orderly was staring at her, a small smile in place. He looked vaguely familiar and she assumed he must have been in and out of her room when she'd been delirious._

"_Hello, I'm Brian," he smiled. "If you'll come with me I'll take you to get cleaned up and then to Doctor Madison."_

_He phrased it as a request, but Alex knew she wasn't being given a choice. She stood up reluctantly, surprised slightly when Brian gripped her upper arm firmly and led her out of the room._

_They walked, or in Alex's case, shuffled slowly, down a long corridor with about twenty numbered doors that looked exactly like her own until he turned sharply and pulled her through the only unnumbered door which turned out to be a large wash room with four sinks and a row of curtained off showers. The orderly let go of her arm finally and turned to a rack on his left before handing her a pair of soft cotton trousers, a white t-shirt, and comfortable looking shoes._

"_Here put these on. You don't have time to take a shower so just do your best to get cleaned up."_

_Alex waited a moment and then gave him a pointed look when he failed to leave the room._

"_Sorry," he smiled apologetically, "you're what they consider high risk. We're not allowed to leave you alone unless you're in your room."_

"_Locked in my room you mean," Alex snapped at him, the first time she'd actually spoken to him._

_Brian frowned slightly. "It's necessary and I think you know that, but I'll turn around if you like."_

_She waited for him to do so and changed quickly, tossing her soiled clothes into the corner. She made her way to the sinks and mirrors but stopped in surprise at the person looking back at her. There were dark shadows under both her eyes, making her face appear even more gaunt than it actually was. Slightly bloodshot eyes sat on an extremely pale face and her hair was a tangled, sweaty mess._

_Alex shook herself visibly, as though to rid her mind of her own image, and turned on the tap. She washed her hands slowly and splashed cold water on her face. When she looked up again she jumped slightly to find Brian reflected in the mirror just behind her. He didn't speak but handed her a small toothbrush and paste set as well as a hair brush and elastic band._

"_Thanks," she spoke numbly as she watched him retreat again in the mirror._

_She took her time brushing her teeth and then hair, slowly working out each knot. She was astonished to find she couldn't remember the last time she'd brushed her hair. She'd been too concerned with continuing her perpetual daze and finding her next fix…_

_The eyes of her reflection grew wide and she faintly heard the hair brush fall into the sink with a clatter. All at once it felt as though her blood was boiling as she became flushed and her hands shook slightly._

_How long had it been? A week, more? She ran a finger over the knick on her arm, now scabbed over, where she preferred to sink the needle in. All she could feel was an incredible urge… she shook her head. No not urge… an overwhelming need to it again. To feel that way again. That rush of euphoria, the warmness. To feel deliciously and completely full._

_She flinched when she felt two large hands on her shoulders, steadying her, and it was only then that she realized her entire body had been shaking._

"_Whoa, take it easy," Brian spoke softly from behind her. "Take a deep breath."_

_She tried to do as he said but couldn't manage to pass air through her tense lungs._

"_Alright, come on. I'm going to take you back to your room."_

"_No!" Alex sputtered suddenly, the thought of returning to the small, dismal chamber shocking her out of her stupor. "Please, I'll be alright. Just give me a moment."_

_Brian regarded her skeptically before removing his hands from her shoulders and crossing the room._

_She raised wide eyes to the mirror again and forced herself to take three long breaths. With shaking hands she retrieved the hairbrush from the sink and tied her hair into a loose ponytail._

_Alex turned finally, only to find Brian chuckling softly._

"_What is funny?" she asked through clenched teeth._

"_Nothing," he shook his head as he smiled, "it's just… that always works with the newbie's. They never want to go back to their rooms. Wonder why that is."_

_Because it feels like a prison cell, like I'm a prisoner and you're my jailer, Alex thought angrily but didn't respond as she allowed him to grip her by the arm again and lead her from the washroom._

_Alex didn't realize how large the rehab was and she found herself lost after Brian turned down the fourth corridor. She knew she'd never be able to find her way back on her own… not that they'd let her try though._

_Her frown was firmly in place and she could feel the beginnings of a monster headache when her guide stopped in front of a pair of swinging white doors. He pushed their way through with no fanfare and Alex's frown grew deeper as all eyes turned to them._

_A quick scan of the room and it appeared comfortable, at least on the surface, with a few armchairs, tables and folding chairs scattered throughout. There were more orderlies (at least she assumed they were because they were dressed identically to Brian), the fat Doctor Madison, and about five people dressed as she was._

"_Ah Alexandra, we'd almost given up on you," Madison smiled at her as she avoided his gaze. "I'm afraid we've already started without you but we've just split into pairs to get better acquainted." He turned to the other patients. "Who doesn't have a partner?"_

_No one responded._

"_Come on, you're an uneven number. I know one of you is available." Doctor Madison sat up a little straighter, his eyes straining towards the back of the room. "Aha… contrary to what you may wish, you're not invisible Sherlock… you're too tall to ever be that."_

_Alex followed the Doctors gaze to a young man sitting alone in the back of the room. The man slouched in an armchair was tall indeed. Tall enough, that even slouched as far as he could, the top of his head still rested above the back of the chair. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest and his long legs were flung haphazardly in front of him._

_He shifted slightly at Doctor Madison's words and Alex's attention was drawn upwards to the young man's face. She judged him to be in his early twenties with hair cut so close to his head it almost appeared shaved. His face was smooth with high cheekbones, a large nose, and what could only be described as haughty lips. Alex marveled at the way this strangers expression could appear both blank and annoyed at the same time. _

_Although his appearance was not entirely unpleasant, there was something odd about this man, she knew it._

_Doctor Madison cleared his throat noisily and Alex swung her head around to find him staring at her. He gestured in the young man's direction._

"_You'll be paired with Sherlock today and we'll do introductions the next time, when I know you'll be on time," he spoke condescendingly._

_Alex wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly at first. Surely that wasn't his name? But when Madison had said it again she assumed it was true. Either that or she was going crazy, which she wouldn't completely write off… not yet._

_She half expected Brian to grasp her by the arm and lead her across the room, but when she turned around she was surprised to find that he was gone. She made her way slowly and with every step she could feel the other patients eyes drift from the back of her head until finally they began conversing normally._

_The young man watched her approach passively, the slight tensing of his crossed arms the only sign he had even noticed she was coming towards him. She stopped at what she presumed was a safe distance and slid one of the folding chairs across the hard floor, the screeching sound making her teeth hurt. Alex sat across from him, though slightly to his left to avoid his long legs. Without thinking, she mimicked his posture and crossed arms._

_They stared at each other for a long time, neither one speaking as though it were a child's game to see who could be silent the longest. It was a game Alex knew she was doomed to lose; the same way she knew the strange young man sitting across from her was determined to win._

_Alexandra was the first to break eye contact as she glanced at the other pairs. Most of them were deep in conversation and the others were at least speaking, albeit begrudgingly, to each other. She caught a glimpse of Doctor Madison out of the corner of her eye. He was trying to be discreet, his eyes dropping to the papers in his lap and then back up, as he watched them curiously, his expression one of rapt fascination. She almost laughed at the way the fat under his chin and on his neck bulged out like a bullfrog each time he tilted his head down. She turned back to the young man, now slightly amused._

"_We're supposed to be talking."_

_His eyes shifted somewhat and she knew he'd heard her._

"_My name's Alex… I'm not sure what he wants us to talk about."_

_Silence._

"_Maybe why we're here, though I don't see how that's any of your business."_

_A slow blink and then nothing. Alex paused, her sudden surge of confidence ebbing away._

"_You're really going to just sit there and not talk to me?"_

_Nothing._

"_That's fine," Alex grumbled. "I can be quiet too. I'm perfectly fine just sitting here, not talking. It's fine."_

_A scarcely arched eyebrow was her only response._

"_I can!" she argued loudly with his eyebrow. "Just watch!"_

_Alex pursed her lips together and leaned back in the cold folding chair._

_She knew she must look like a petulant child with her lips pressed tight as she breathed through her nose and her eyes glared at the man before her, but she couldn't make herself stop._

_They stared at each other for a few more minutes before Alex's resolve began to crack. Her knee began bouncing of its own accord as she shifted in her chair nervously before finally uncrossing her arms and throwing them into the air._

"_Fine, you win!" she shouted, fairly certain that all eyes were now on her. "I can do enough talking for the both of us." Alex paused and sat up straighter as she let her words sink in._

"_So," she began slowly, "what kind of a name is 'Sherlock'? I mean really, what were your parents thinking?"_

_At first there was nothing, no indication that he'd even heard her, but Alex's eyes widened in surprise as the corner of his mouth turned up slightly._

"You're staring…"

Alex started suddenly as Sherlock's deep voice issued from his still form.

"… and smiling. Stop it."

Her smile grew wider as she sat up in the hospital bed. "Your eyes are closed, you were only guessing," Alex responded.

Sherlock smiled slightly as his eyes popped open. "But I was still right."

"Hmpf, maybe…" Alex frowned as she began, but the annoyed look on Sherlock's face had her grinning again. "Alright, you were right," she admitted.

"Why are you staring?"

"I was just thinking…" she paused and gestured at him casually. "You were slouched just like that when I first saw you, do you remember?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes… you wouldn't shut up and you insulted my parents."

Alex's eyes grew wide for a split second before she collapsed onto the bed in a fit of laughter.

She laughed so hard and for so long that her stomach began to hurt and tears leaked from her eyes. Every time she thought she was finally about to stop she would happen to glance at Sherlock, who's sour and uncomfortable expression only set her off again.

Despite the slight pain in her abdomen, it felt good; right somehow, to be laughing. It had been ages since she laughed like this, not since Charles was alive, and she was loath to give it up.

After a few more minutes she sobered up slightly. Alex scooted up the bed until she was sitting once again and absently wiped at her eyes as she regarded Sherlock.

"Are you quite finished?" he asked solemnly.

"I think so… sorry." Her smile faltered as she remembered his sudden appearance that day and her eyes travelled to the stitches on the side of his head. "What happened now?"

Sherlock recounted the events of the most recent crime scene; the abandoned house, the four dead heroin addicts, her photograph, and the homemade bomb under the floorboard.

Alex sighed and seemed to deflate all at once, her mirth from before forgotten.

"More dead, because of me."

Sherlock shook his head and leaned forward slightly. "Not because of you…you didn't murder these people. This may be about you," he added quietly, "but I don't think it's your fault."

Alex opened her mouth as though to protest, but closed it again quickly when no words would come. They stared at each other for a moment, until they heard the soft click of the doorknob and both heads turned sharply towards the door.

The nurse came in but hesitated when she saw the two of them staring at her.

"Oh… I didn't think… I'll come back," the nurse stammered and began to leave.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as the nurse slipped something into the pocket of her scrubs and he jumped out of his seat.

"Nonsense," he smiled, his face and voice transformed into a charming mask. "I'll just get out of your way so you can check on your patient." He walked towards the nurse and stumbled slightly, grasping the nurse be the shoulder lightly as he brushed against her.

"Forgive me, I'm so clumsy." He straightened and patted her shoulder before leaning next to the door and crossing his arms.

Alex stared at him, her mouth open in surprise and her brow wrinkled in confusion.

Sherlock's smile dropped away as they locked eyes. He shook his head slowly, silently urging her to wait.

She turned to the nurse who was now at her side, absently fussing over some equipment. The nurses eyes were slightly wider than normal as she hurried here and there, seemingly eager to get it over with. After only minutes, she smiled tightly and hastened for the door.

Sherlock shut the door behind her calmly and turned to face Alexandra once again.

"That was… unusual," Alex spoke softly, her eyes still wide.

Sherlock nodded and dropped his gaze. He was turning something over and over in his hands and Alex craned her neck to see what it was.

"What are you doing? What is that?"

"It's a camera."

"Where did it come from?"

Sherlock looked up, a frown firmly in place.

"I just lifted it… from your nurse."

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**Please leave me some love in review form! Thanks!**


	8. Chapter 8

**And here's chapter 8! Thanks to adarnnya, Anonymity, weezerz2490, Aimee, CreativeChica39, Jillie Rose, and annakin14 for reviewing the last chapter! It means the world to me and keeps me going when I want to quit so thanks for that.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

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Alexandra waited as patiently as she could while Sherlock thumbed through the saved photographs in the camera's memory. She understood now, why he had behaved so oddly in front of the nurse. He wanted to be certain before confronting her. After all, Alex thought, her nurse could just carry a camera, however unlikely.

Her suspicions were confirmed as she watched Sherlock's frown grow more prominent and his index finger stilled on the camera's controls.

He glanced over the camera at her briefly before scrolling through the photos at a slower pace.

"Is it me?" Alex asked quietly.

"Yes."

She leaned forward as far as she could in the hospital bed and reached out with her uninjured arm. "Let me see."

Sherlock looked at her again and shook his head.

"Sherlock," she began angrily, "if there are photos of me on that camera, I have a right to see them."

His eyebrows rose at her sharp tone. "You can see them. I only meant for you to not touch the camera. My fingerprints are already on it and we need to keep any others to a minimum."

"Oh, right," she muttered sheepishly as Sherlock stood next to the bed and extended his arm in front of her.

The LCD screen was small and Alex struggled to see the images. It didn't help that just Sherlock's rhythmic breathing was enough to make his extended arm tremor slightly.

"Try to keep the camera steady… here…" Alex reached out and gripped Sherlock's arm just below the wrist. She glanced at him in surprise when he visibly tensed and nearly dropped the camera into her lap. But just as soon as she felt his arm stiffen it was over and he was looking down at the camera calmly, scrolling through the pictures.

Alex blinked, wondering now if she's imagined it, and turned her attention back to the camera.

She paled almost instantly.

After a few shots of an orange kitten sitting in the grass flitted by quickly, she saw herself. She leaned forward slightly, her hand tightening on Sherlock's wrist. She was asleep in each one, only the slight turn of her head or position of the blanket distinguishing one from the next as they passed before her eyes. Each one left her more raw and vulnerable than the one before. Sherlock clicked once more and she was staring at the orange kitten again.

Alex blinked and released Sherlock's wrist, pushing it and the camera away from her in disgust.

"I can't believe she would do this. I've never even met her before now! Why would she try to kill me?"

Sherlock scoffed and sat in the chair next to the bed. He set the camera on the table and began digging in his pocket for something.

"Your nurse didn't set any fires or try to kill anyone. The only thing she's guilty of is bad photography."

Alex stared at him curiously as he pulled out his phone.

"She was hired to take these photographs," he continued as he began typing on the phone's keypad. "And from the look of it she was desperate for the money."

"How do you know?"

Sherlock finished with his phone and slid it back into his breast pocket, shooting Alexandra an incredulous look in the process.

"You, of all people, should know… money trumps morality every time," he answered accusingly. "Look what you were doing with Thomas Wellington, for example."

Alex took a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm and not rise to his bait. "I don't have to explain myself to you Sherlock…" The implied "not anymore" settled between them heavily and she cleared her throat before continuing. "But I meant, how do you know she was desperate for money?"

Sherlock's expression grew thoughtful for a moment before he answered. "Hair, shoes, face and hand," he spoke simply.

"Explain."

Sherlock began speaking in his familiar analytically bored monotone and Alex felt the tension between her shoulder blades fade slightly. "Her hair was dyed brown but there was a good portion of gray root beginning to show. She couldn't afford the salon. Her white, non-slip shoes are torn at the toes and the sole of one is falling off producing a soft slapping sound whenever she walks. They obviously need replacing but she hasn't. She wears an unseemly amount of foundation on her cheeks and under her eyes but doesn't bother blending it in as though she's applied it in a hurry to cover up the fact she's been crying heavily and often…" Sherlock paused to take a breath. "And, most importantly, there is a pale line on her ring finger where her wedding band used to sit. She is a woman, far past her prime, going through an emotionally and financially taxing divorce."

Alex stared at him for a moment before shrugging and responding flippantly. "And here I just thought she was a bitch."

"Who's a bitch?" Lestrade asked no one in particular as he entered the room, limping slightly. "And for the record," he turned his attention to Sherlock, "texting me 'hospital now' isn't going to inspire me to do anything."

"And yet here you are," Sherlock smirked.

Lestrade scowled and limped over to where Sherlock was sitting. "Yes, well I was already here wasn't I," he gestured towards his limp. "Now let me sit, this leg is killing me."

Sherlock snatched up the camera before easing out of the chair to lean against the wall. Lestrade sighed loudly as the pressure on his leg was relieved and addressed Alex for the first time.

"Forgive me Alex, how are you?"

"Fine I suppose, given the circumstances," Alex answered quietly, her eyes resting on his stiff right leg. "Was that because of the bomb?"

Lestrade nodded but changed the subject quickly. "Why am I here?"

"We know where the photograph of me came from," Alex spoke quickly and Sherlock glanced at her in irritation.

"More importantly," he began, "we know whom it came from."

Lestrade sat up a little straighter. "Well?"

"Her nurse."

"The old woman?" Lestrade asked in confusion. "Surely you don't think she set all those fires?"

Sherlock fought the need to roll his eyes. "No, but she might be able to tell us who did."

Lestrade's eyes widened and Alex thought she heard him mumble something about painkillers as he stood up.

"Right, let's find her then."

* * *

Less than an hour later, Sherlock found himself at Scotland Yard, sitting at a table in a small, cramped room with Lestrade, Donovan, and Alex's nurse.

They'd left Alex in the custody of one of Lestrade's officers despite her protests that she felt much better and should be allowed to join them. They'd found the nurse not long after. As soon as she'd seen Sherlock swinging the camera back and forth by its thin cord she began sobbing hysterically. And she continued all the way to the police station and was still doing so as Sherlock stared at her from across the table.

Her heavily applied makeup ran in streaks along her red, splotchy face and Sherlock's lip curled slightly in derision.

"Mrs. Brant…" Lestrade had spoken her name kindly three times with no response and Sherlock could tell he was reluctant to do what needed to be done.

Sherlock was ready to get Mrs. Brant's attention, forcibly if needed, but Sally beat him to it.

Without warning, Donovan slammed both palms on the table top, making them all jump.

"Stop it! Stop crying!" she shouted.

Once over his initial shock, Sherlock was pleased to see that not only did it work but it turned out Sally was actually good for something.

The nurse stared, her mouth hanging open, at Donovan until Lestrade spoke her name again.

"Mrs. Brant…"

"Ms. Fairbanks… I'm getting divorced," she sniffled.

"Fine… _Ms_. Fairbanks," Lestrade began again, emphasizing the Ms. "Can you tell me why you were in possession of a camera containing involuntary photographs of one of your patients?"

The nurse blinked at Lestrade and began crying again, though less loudly, for which they were all thankful.

"I didn't know… I'm sorry… he asked me to…" she spoke between sobs.

"Who asked you?" Sherlock asked eagerly.

"The man who paid me."

Lestrade leaned forward slightly. "Do you have a name? A physical description?"

She shook her head and wiped at her eyes, smearing her makeup even more. "He didn't say. I never actually met him."

"Of course not," Sherlock spoke under his breath. "That would be too easy."

Lestrade's eyes flicked towards Sherlock briefly before focusing on the woman again. "How did he contact you?"

She sniffed wetly in response and Donovan pushed a box of tissues towards her in disgust.

"Thank you dear." She blew her nose loudly before answering. "A few days ago there was an advertisement in the Telegraph… I've been checking it every day in the hope of making a little extra cash you see…"

"What did it say?"

"Well I remember thinking it a bit odd because it specifically called for hospital employees. It said 'work at Bart's? Looking for quick, easy money? Call' and then it listed a number 'for more information."

Lestrade turned slightly towards Sally. "Donovan…"

"Yeah, I'll find it," Sally spoke quickly while scribbling something in her notepad.

The DI turned back to the old woman. "So you called it?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"It was a recording. It asked for my name, telephone number and position at the hospital."

"Then what happened?"

"A few hours later I got a call from what seemed like a very nice man. He said he'd give me three hundred pounds if I could get him a few photographs of Ms. Claymore."

Lestrade frowned. "And you didn't think that was odd?"

The nurse reached for another tissue. "I did at first, but then I thought maybe she was famous or something and it was some tabloid reporter. Or maybe an ex who just wanted to make sure she was alright and I didn't think there was anything wrong with that?"

"No, there's nothing wrong with a potential stalker wanting pictures of some woman in the hospital," Sally muttered sarcastically and Lestrade gave her a disapproving look as Ms. Fairbanks's lower lip quivered and she threatened to cry again.

"So you took the photographs. Then what?"

"He gave me an email address to send the pictures to, but I had to get my neighbor to help me with the computer. He said when he got them he'd mail me a check but I haven't gotten it yet…"

"What was the email address?" Sherlock interjected.

"I don't remember but I think I saved it on my computer…" The nurse stopped and took a deep breath. "I'm going to prison aren't I?"

"No, no…" Sherlock smiled and stood up. "You're only an accessory to murder. Why would you go to prison?" he asked sardonically before leaving the room.

Lestrade smiled apologetically at the old woman who was now openly sobbing again.

"Donovan, could you…" he gestured towards the nurse and hastened after Sherlock before she could argue.

His slight limp slowed him down and he didn't catch up with Sherlock until the lobby.

"Was that really necessary Sherlock?"

The taller man frowned and pulled out his phone. "She was a complete waste of time."

"But we can get the email address and the phone number. Check with the newspaper and see who placed the ad."

Sherlock shook his head, his eyes on his phone while he typed. "The ad will have been placed under a false name. The phone numbers and email will all be generic. He's had plenty of time to clean up any mistakes. You won't learn anything I don't already know."

Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger, sighing deeply. "What are you doing?"

"Texting John to meet me at the hospital."

"What for?"

Sherlock finished and put the phone away. "I have more questions for Alexandra and she's more likely to answer honestly with John there."

"Why do you think that?" Lestrade asked curiously.

"His integrity makes those without it feel guilty. It's helpful."

The DI looked skeptical as he pulled on his coat. "I'll go with you. I'd like to see that, and, at any rate, it'll save me the trouble of getting any useful information out of you later."

* * *

They arrived back at the hospital just as it was beginning to get dark. John had arrived moments earlier and was chatting with Alex pleasantly when Sherlock and Lestrade entered.

"Why did you lie about only having one drink the night of the second arson?" Sherlock asked, dispensing with pretense.

Alex looked up in surprise. "I didn't"

"You're still lying. I tested for every possibility but the only thing that presented was a higher than normal blood alcohol level."

Alex stared at each of the three men in turn before focusing on Sherlock. "So I had more than one drink. What's the big deal?"

"Exactly… what is the big deal? So why did you lie?" Watson questioned.

"Because something else happened that night," Sherlock answered as he stepped closer to the bed. "What was it?"

Alex sighed wearily and rubbed at her temples. "I didn't want to mention it. I didn't want to dredge up any old memories."

Sherlock stepped closer to the bed, his eyes shining with anticipation and excitement. "What happened?"

"I saw Brian."

Whatever Sherlock had been expecting, it wasn't this, and he took a step back in surprise.

"I saw him at the club," Alex continued. "We didn't speak. I don't even think he saw me but it was… upsetting, to say the least. I may have drunk a bit more… after that."

John glanced at Sherlock and he was disconcerted to find the detective so visibly taken aback.

"Wait a moment," John began, waving his arms back and forth slightly. "Who is Brian?"

Neither Alex nor Sherlock answered for a moment. They just stared at each other intensely while Lestrade and John volleyed between the two, as though they were at a tennis match.

"Go on," Sherlock nodded towards Alex after a long moment, his lip curling slightly in contempt. "Your version of the truth is always more interesting."

She exhaled slowly and lowered her gaze to her lap. "He worked at the rehab I was at. We had a relationship… a sexual relationship."

"While you were there as a patient," John asked, aghast.

Alex felt her cheeks begin to burn. "I'm not proud of it. They found out and he was sacked."

Lestrade and John both looked at Sherlock for clarification.

"Close enough," Sherlock shrugged and Lestrade turned back to Alex.

"What's Brian's last name?"

"Um… Dannelly, I think."

Lestrade scribbled his name down. "We'll have to talk to him."

Alex's eyes widened. "Why? He couldn't have had anything to do with this."

"How can you be sure?" John asked. "Sherlock, you knew him too. What do you think?"

Watson glanced behind him when he received no response, only to find that Sherlock was gone.

"Well," he said as he turned back to the others, "he can certainly be very quiet when it suits him, can't he?"

Lestrade shook his head in exasperation and pressed on. "Look, I have no choice but to look into this guy. In the meantime, if you think of anything else you may have… forgotten… give me a call. Otherwise I'll be in touch."

Lestrade nodded goodbye to Watson and headed towards the door.

"Wait," Alex called him back. "I should probably tell you I saw my doctor today and he says they're going to discharge me in the next few days."

"Really?" Lestrade asked in surprise. "I didn't think they'd release you so soon."

"There's only so much they can do for burns, once the danger of infection has passed," John spoke up. "Eventually you have to just let them heal, and you can do that anywhere."

"I need to know where you'll be," Lestrade said worriedly. "I'll assign an officer to you until we get this sorted… or we can take you into protective custody, if you don't have anywhere else to go."

Alex shook her head sharply. "That's a bad idea…"

"She can stay with us," John proposed quickly.

"That's an even worse idea. I can't stay with you."

"I don't know," Lestrade began thoughtfully. "I was going to put an officer on your flat anyway, because of what happened earlier. And you have to admit, staying with a doctor has its benefits." He glanced at John. "Though I suppose it could put you and Sherlock at greater risk."

"We can handle ourselves."

Lestrade smiled, a quick flash of teeth that was over before it really began. "I've no doubt, but it isn't me you've got to convince."

Alex waited for Lestrade to shut the door behind him before appealing to John. "This is not a good idea. Sherlock's not going to like it."

John sat in the chair next to the bed, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward slightly. "I'll talk to him."

"Yes but what about your landlady… what was her name? Hudson something? You'd be putting her at risk too."

"Why did he react that way, do you think, when you mentioned Brian?" John asked intently, completely ignoring her concerns.

Alex did her best to appear indifferent. "You'd have to ask him."

"I think I will." John paused and lowered his chin in thought. "Though something tells me neither one of you is going to explain to me what happened at this rehab?"

Alexandra sighed and lay back in the hospital bed, closing her eyes. "I'm not even sure I know John. Most of my time there doesn't feel real. How am I supposed to explain what I don't even understand?" She yawned quietly and opened her eyes. "Besides, I think I have more pressing things to worry about…"

"Like the fact that someone's trying to kill you," John interrupted. "You're right… I'm sorry." He stood up, a sad smile never leaving his face. "I'm going to go so you can rest. I'll pick you when they discharge you…" he paused as Alex opened her mouth to protest. "And don't worry about Sherlock; I'll take care of it."

John left before Alex could argue anymore. She caught a glimpse of the new officer Lestrade had stationed at her door but it afforded her little comfort. She sank as deeply into the bed as the thin mattress would allow and pulled the blanket to her chin.

There was no doubt in her mind that staying at Baker Street was a horrible idea… That staying anywhere with Sherlock was a horrible idea.

She almost laughed as she realized she'd rather face a hundred arsonists trying to kill her, than one very obstinate Sherlock Holmes.

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**Lots of talking and not a lot doing in this chapter... There'll be more action and flashbacks later though I promise. And hopefully we've seen the last of that hospital room because it was getting really boring to write!**

**Please leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello Again! I really think the only reason I've managed to update twice in less than a week is because I'm training for a marathon that's coming up soon and the only parts of me that aren't sore are my hands!**

**Special thanks to A Benediction (great name btw), Anonymity, Aimee, Jillie Rose and itsbeautiful9 for reviewing. As for the rest of you... get with the program and leave a review! All the cool kids are doing it! ;)**

**Hope you enjoy!**

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_Alex paced the length of her room at Three Elms in frustration. One, two, three, four, five steps and she was at the wall. The short distance left her feeling caged; like a wild animal padding around its small cell at the zoo while apathetic people came to gawk._

_From what she could gather, she'd been there for two weeks. Doctor Madison assured her the continued muscle aches, difficulty sleeping and cold flashes were all in her head. That any withdrawal symptoms she was still feeling couldn't be real, not anymore. Not after two weeks with the drugs completely out of her system. It was all psychological. _

_She'd wanted to smash his fat face in._

_But that wasn't even the worst of it. The worst was the unbelievable boredom. She could find nothing to take her mind off her withdrawal, even if it was only psychosomatic._

_She groaned and fell on her bed, holding her arms to her chest and rubbing her hands up and down in a weak attempt to rid herself of the chill. She glanced at the small analog clock on the wall._

_Two thirty in the morning._

_Her eyes shifted to the door. A few days prior she'd been rewarded and had her door unlocked with the understanding that patients were to be in their rooms by eleven each night._

_She stared at the door for a long moment as a new wave of nausea overcame her._

_Screw it._

_She was out the door before she had time to convince herself it was a bad idea._

_The corridors were dimmed to save on electricity and she kept close to the wall as though it would hide her. She roamed quietly for a while, not encountering anyone else, and grew bolder. She left the relative safety of the patient dormitories and ventured closer to the front of the compound._

_Just being out of that room made her feel better… made the aches and cold chills recede. She could breathe again._

_She hesitated suddenly, her hand flat on the wall, and strained to hear before her. Alex could just make out the electronic buzz of the television in the common room. Two voices passed back and forth, relating the latest world news and she assumed it must be someone from the night staff on a break. She backed quietly in the opposite direction and disappeared into the nearest corridor. When she was certain she hadn't been heard she turned to continue her stroll but instead found herself frozen in surprise._

_A few meters away was the young man she'd been forced to partner with everyday for the past week in group. The one with the odd name… Sherlock._

_It had gotten easier after that first day and he would speak to her now. In fact, she'd been pleasantly surprised by the deep timbre of his voice. Even if their conversations were limited to cynical remarks about their current situation and scorn for Doctor Madison and their fellow inmates. It was true, she was the main instigator and carried most of the conversation, but he always had a few choice words and observations to share._

_Now he was on his knees in front of a tall, mahogany door that she knew led to Madison's office. In his hands were two small pieces of metal that he had shoved into the lock._

_Alex's eyes grew wide and she shuffled backwards involuntarily._

_Sherlock stiffened as she broke his concentration, the thin instruments becoming still in the lock. _

_Their eyes met and they stared in silence, each waiting to see what the other would do. Alex knew from his wary expression that he was waiting to see if she was going to rat him out. _

_What she actually did surprised them both._

_Alex broke into a wide grin and stepped closer. "Can you get in?" she whispered._

_Sherlock smiled slightly at the child-like glint in her eyes and nodded._

_Alex had to fight the urge to clap her hands in excitement as she spoke again. "I'll keep lookout."_

_She turned her back as Sherlock went back to work on the lock and peered down the corridor theatrically, her boredom momentarily alleviated. She flattened against the wall and crouched down dramatically to see around the corner._

_After a short while a loud, confident click interrupted her game and she turned to see Sherlock stand and turn the knob._

_It opened easily and he smirked at her before jerking his head towards the door for her to go first._

_She practically danced past him with excitement as they entered, Sherlock shutting the door softly behind them. The faint light of the moon shining through the windows afforded them little light, but both were reluctant to flip the switch that would turn on the fluorescents. Alex spied a small lamp on the desk and flicked it on, bathing them in a faint orange glow. She smiled over her shoulder at Sherlock mischievously and jumped into Madison's desk chair, spinning it in circles as though she were ten years old._

_When she stopped, her world tilted and spun, making her feel giddy and sort of high._

_This thought grounded her for a moment and she stared at her hands until the room stopped moving. After a long moment, she glanced at Sherlock but he was across the room, his back to her._

_An overwhelming need to exact revenge on Doctor Madison (as though all her problems were his fault), came over her and Alex began opening the drawers of his desk and spilling their contents on the top._

"_What do you think would make him feel completely crazy Sherlock?" she asked as she popped open his stapler and dumped all the tiny bits of steel onto the desk. "It has to be subtle like throwing away all his staples or hiding all of his pens." Alex picked up the desk's only photograph. It was of a middle-aged, attractive woman whom she assumed could only be the Doctor's wife. "Would it frighten him to come in tomorrow morning to find his wife's photo turned around in the frame, do you think?"_

_She looked up again, only to realize that Sherlock hadn't been listening to a word she'd said. Alex got up without a sound and stepped up behind him._

_He was hunched over slightly, the thin pieces of metal in his nimble hands again as he tried to pick the lock on Madison's filing cabinet. Her mind wandered briefly and she tried to imagine where he could have gotten the makeshift lock picking equipment, before speaking again._

"_What are you after in there?"_

"_Information."_

"_About what?"_

"_Everything."_

_Alex stood there for a few seconds before she realized that was all she'd get from him. She returned to the desk and began the monotonous, yet oddly satisfying, task of separating every cap from its pen, and placing them in her pocket. After a short while she heard the file cabinet slide out with a scratching sound and she looked up to see Sherlock pull out a handful of files._

"_What are those?"_

"_Patient files."_

_She stared at him thoughtfully for a moment, almost asking what he was after again, before deciding she didn't really care and returning to her task of tormenting Doctor Madison._

_Alex took her time prising open the frame to turn the woman's picture around, this tiny bit of wickedness enough to relieve most of her exasperation. When she'd finished reorganizing his entire desk, and felt certain he'd have a hell of a time finding anything that morning, she smiled and looked up._

_Sherlock sat on the floor with his back to the wall, long legs stretched out in front of him. There were a stack of manila folders to his left but he seemed completely engrossed in the one on his lap._

_Curious as to what had him so enthralled; she left the desk for a second time and made her way towards him._

_Alex expected him to glance up at her with some biting comment as she neared but he was so captivated he didn't even notice when she slid down the wall to sit next to him. It wasn't until she leaned over to catch a glimpse of what had him so absorbed that Sherlock reacted at all._

_With a start, he slammed the file shut and jumped up. All Alex had time to make out was a large capital "B" on the front._

"_Whoa relax," she whispered as Sherlock bent to scoop up the other files and began shoving them back into the cabinet._

"_We've been here too long. We should leave."_

"_Alright," Alex responded with wide-eyed confusion. She switched off the desk lamp, returning them to semi-darkness, before placing her hand on the doorknob._

_Without warning, Sherlock stepped up behind her, one hand closing over her own on the knob. He pulled her hand away and swung her around._

"_What…?" Her question was cut off as Sherlock clamped one large hand over her mouth and she stumbled backwards until she hit the door in surprise. Sherlock was forced to step closer to keep her mouth covered and his other hand dropped to her waist to brace himself. His eyes bored into hers as he removed his hand from her mouth and brought one finger to his own lips, silently imploring her to remain quiet._

_Her eyes widened as she first heard the slow creak of a cart on the other side of the door and she finally understood. _

_Alex held her breath and remained still as the cart slowed to a stop. She prayed that whoever was controlling it hadn't heard the small thump she'd made when her back hit the door._

_She could feel Sherlock's shallow breaths on her face in their close proximity. His other hand tensed as it dug into her waist and she could feel the warmth of his hand through the thin material of her shirt._

_They waited for what seemed like an eternity for the cart to resume its slow creak down the hallway. Even when it did they remained still for fear of being caught._

_Alex closed her eyes and listened as the creak became quieter and then disappeared entirely. When they opened again she found Sherlock watching her curiously._

"_It's gone," he spoke in a low voice and stepped away just as she was discovering how beautiful his eyes were._

_Alex stood up straight and stepped away from the door so Sherlock could pull it open. He stuck his head into the hallway, glancing quickly in both directions to make sure the coast was clear. They locked the door behind them and headed in the direction of the patient rooms. Alex moved slowly, much more subdued than before, her previous excitement at the impromptu break-in forgotten and replaced with a baffled sort of daze._

_Sherlock's longer stride had her struggling to keep up and he rounded a corner a few paces before her._

"_Hey!"_

_Alexandra flinched and whirled around to see Brian stalking towards her. She knew she was caught and didn't bother to try and get away._

"_What are you doing out of your room? You know you're not supposed to be out in the middle of the night," he spoke quickly when he reached her. _

_She was pleased to see that he didn't look angry exactly, only slightly annoyed._

"_I know. I couldn't sleep… I was bored."_

_Brian sighed. "If they know you're out of your room they'll start locking your door again and they just decided to leave it unlocked."_

"_Here's a thought," Alex spat in annoyance, "don't tell anyone."_

_Brian smiled dismissively and peered around her. "Who was out here with you?"_

"_What? No one."_

"_Yeah right, I saw someone else go that way." He moved past her to check for himself and she hoped Sherlock had enough common sense to get back to his room. She had a sneaking suspicion, however, that despite his obvious intelligence he might be found lacking in other areas. Just in case, she grabbed Brian's arm and pulled him back._

"_Really, it was just me."_

"_Sure," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he turned again. _

_If anyone had asked her later, why she did what she did, she wouldn't have been able to give them an answer. All Alex knew was she needed a distraction and it seemed like a good idea at the time._

_In a moment of rashness she quickly put herself between Brian and the turn in the hallway. Before he could step around her, Alex fisted her hands into the front of his scrubs and pulled his mouth down to her own. Brian went stock-still in surprise and in truth, so did she. She hadn't thought it through that far. It wasn't until she started to pull away that life returned to Brian and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer and changing the angle of the kiss._

_The movement of his mouth both mollified and excited her and soon she was pressing closer, eagerly returning his attentions. Alex let go of his shirt to grasp the short hairs at the back of his head and arched her back, eliminating any gaps that were left between them._

_Brian groaned at the contact and maneuvered Alex backwards until she felt her back hit the wall. Without breaking contact, he reached down to slip a set of keys out of his pocket. He reached out blindly to Alex's left, unlocking a door and pulling her inside._

_She was overwhelmed by the sudden darkness but her eyes adjusted quickly. She pulled her mouth away in surprise as she was roughly pushed up against a shelving unit, its contents falling around her shoulders. Brian's lips moved to her neck, trailing wet, open mouthed kisses along her collar bone._

_She felt his fingers dig into the skin at her waist where her shirt has ridden up and a sudden sensation of déjà vu brought her back to reality. She glanced down at where his large hand rested on her skin and it was exactly where Sherlock's fingers had gripped her minutes before. _

_The area was red and feverish and, as she watched, the skin began to blister and peel, blackening and curling up to reveal charred muscle beneath. The acrid smell of burning flesh reached her nose and she cried out in pain. Alex began to beat her fists against Brian's chest in an effort to push him away but he didn't budge. He just continued his trail of wet, sloppy kisses, oblivious to her pain. To the very fact that his touch was burning her alive._

_She whimpered and pleaded with him to move but it was like he couldn't hear her. With her last bit of energy, she tangled one hand in his hair and tugged, snapping his head back sharply._

_She looked up, mouth open as she tried to scream for him to stop. But the sound died in her throat when she saw that it wasn't Brian's, but Sherlock's beautiful eyes, that stared back at her._

Alex woke with a start and sat up in the small, unfamiliar bed. With one hand, she lifted her shirt to stare at her side.

Nothing… no fresh burns, no charred skin.

It was only a dream.

She exhaled shakily and wiped the sweat from her forehead as her eyes focused on her surroundings. It took her a moment to remember she wasn't at the hospital anymore, but at Baker Street.

John and Sherlock's flat.

Sherlock…

With a sigh, she flopped back down on the bed and pulled the pillow over her sweat drenched face.

It wasn't the first time she'd relived that memory while she slept; it seemed to be a favorite of her subconscious.

But now her mind was changing it, distorting it into something terrifying that she couldn't understand.

In reality, nothing had stopped them once they'd reached the supply closet. It had been the start of the whole bloody mess…

Alex groaned and threw the pillow on the floor of John' small room in frustration. She'd argued with him for a long time about where she would sleep when he'd picked her up five days prior. She would have preferred the sofa but he wouldn't hear of it. She only gave in when he insisted he was hardly there, preferring instead to spend his nights at his girlfriends, whom Alex hadn't heard of until now.

He was telling the truth. She'd only seen him once since a police escort had taken them to her storage unit (which she was overjoyed to see hadn't fallen victim to the mysterious fires) to gather a few of her clothes and basic necessities, before dropping them at the flat.

Alex swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, still a little shaky from the dream. She walked the short distance to the window and separated the blinds with her hand.

A few thin rays of sunlight managed to pierce through the dark clouds and she guessed it was sometime after noon.

She'd slept nearly half the day away… again.

Not that she should care, Alex thought bitterly. She had nothing to do and nowhere to be. She wasn't supposed to leave the flat.

She gazed down at the busy street below, easily spotting the unmarked car. She imagined the officer inside was just as bored as she was.

She'd had little to occupy her, what with John being gone most of the time. Alex had barely seen Sherlock either, though that was probably for the best.

Her stomach growled and she turned from the window. It had been over twenty-four hours since she'd last eaten, but with good reason… she'd avoided the kitchen ever since she found a box with two severed ears in the refrigerator.

Apparently when nothing new had turned up in her case, Sherlock had begun work on another. She knew it involved these grotesque body parts from the one sided phone conversation she'd overheard last night…

"It's not a prank Lestrade!" Alex had heard Sherlock shout in annoyance and hesitated on the stairs. She knew she should hurry back upstairs to give him his privacy but the promise of something interesting had piqued her interest and she remained still.

"Oh really?" Sherlock continued. "Tell me, if it were these medical students pranking the old woman don't you think the incisions would have been more precise? Don't you think they would have preserved them in something other than basic table salt?" Sherlock paused, listening to something Lestrade was saying on the other end of the phone.

"You'll get the ears back when I'm done with them!" he'd shouted finally and pulled on his coat, slamming the door behind him as he left.

She had neither seen nor heard him return.

Her stomach rumbled again, angry at its neglect, and she forced herself down the steps towards the dreaded kitchen. She hesitated at the bottom, ears straining for signs of life.

All was silence and she knew Sherlock hadn't come back while she slept.

Alex settled on the sofa with what little food she could scrape together from the kitchen when the buzzer went off downstairs. She jumped up and was halfway to answering when she remembered that she wasn't even allowed to do that, Lestrade's orders.

She stopped in mid-step, almost tumbling over in the middle of the room. Alex could hear Mrs. Hudson moving to open the door. The muffled voices that floated up to her were soon followed by quick, light steps on the stairs. Before she knew it, the door to the flat was pushed open, leaving her face to face with the eldest Holmes brother.

"Mrs. Claymore." Mycroft tipped his head in acknowledgment.

"Mycroft," she responded softly and indicated that they should sit.

"You don't seem terribly surprised to see me," he stated once he was situated on the sofa, Alex in the armchair.

"Nor you, to find me here… still keeping tabs on your brother I see."

Mycroft smiled without opening his mouth. "Sherlock does need some looking after." He paused to clear his throat, the smile disappearing. "I think you know why I'm here."

Alex hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "I'm sure it's to remind me of our contract, though I'm surprised it took you this long."

"I've been busy. I should have come to see you the moment the contract was violated."

"And how did I violate it exactly?" she asked, her voice rising in anger. "By being attacked? By having someone try to murder me?"

"The circumstances make no difference to me. The fact of the matter is you were paid a good deal of money upon your release from the rehabilitation facility with only one stipulation… you were never to see Sherlock again."

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**Much respect to anyone who knows which original Holmes story I borrowed the idea for Sherlock's new case from...**

**Leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	10. Chapter 10

**And here's chapter 10! Bit shorter than I normally do but I really liked it just the way it was. **

**The case Sherlock was working on in the last chapter was adapted from "The Adventure of the Cardboard Box" that was a part of The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. **

**Thanks to E. Edwin, Anonymity, adarnnya, Amelli-Kara, Aimee, x-Pick'n'Mix-X, and itsbeautiful9 for continuing to review!**

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Alexandra and Mycroft stared at each other for several minutes, the weight of his previous statement settling heavily over the room. Alex shifted uncomfortably but didn't speak, unwilling to be the first to break the silence. Unfortunately, it was a game she'd never been able to play and the Holmes brothers excelled at. She knew the man across from her could sit there, smiling patiently and never speaking for hours, while she went slowly insane.

She cleared her throat, unable to bear the awkwardness any longer. "If you're waiting for an apology I'm afraid you'll be sitting a very long time." She paused but Mycroft still didn't speak. "Or if you're looking to get your money back, you're too late. It's all gone."

Mycroft eyes narrowed slightly as he frowned. "Yes I know it's gone," he spoke finally, his lips barely moving. Alex watched as his left hand began tapping an absentminded rhythm on the arm of the sofa and he regarded her curiously. "It sat in your account for years, gathering dust, while you slept on the streets, struggling to make your way. You barely touched it… Why?"

Alex exhaled heavily, mesmerized by the motion of his hand. "I never wanted it. I was leaving anyway."

"Yes, guilt can be a powerful motivator… but you took it anyway. And several years later you invested it all in your late husband's business."

Alex winced at the mention of Charles and tore her eyes away from Mycroft's hand. "You've been watching me?" she asked quietly, only slightly outraged. Instead she chided herself for not expecting it. "It wasn't Charlie's company."

"No, of course not. It was his mates, John Smythe. Though technically, it should all belong to you, what with the amount of money you put in… you're still the majority shareholder."

Alex sighed and sank back into the armchair. She should have definitely seen this coming. "I suppose I am."

"Then why are you here?"

"I don't really know. When Charles died I just wanted out of there, so I left. As far as I'm concerned it's John's company and he's welcome to it."

"Hmmm… do you want to know what I think?" he asked.

"Not really, but I'm sure that won't stop you."

Mycroft smiled suddenly, a quick flash of teeth that didn't reach his eyes. "I think you aren't being completely honest with me. There's more to it than just the death of your husband. I think you don't want anything to do with Smythe Shipping or your husband's mate John."

"That's an interesting theory."

Mycroft studied her soberly for a few seconds and then it was as if someone flipped a switch inside his head. Suddenly he was all smiles and pleasant civility and Alex was visibly taken aback.

"But I don't really care about the money," Mycroft continued cheerfully. "My continued involvement in the matter was only to ensure that Sherlock's best interests were protected."

Alex didn't even try to conceal her disbelieving snort and Mycroft paused, a small frown marring his otherwise amiable façade.

"His mind is too great to be wasted on the mundane," he pressed on, "and you have proven to be a formidable distraction."

She chose to ignore his last comment, not sure if he meant it as an insult or adulation. "So you're still trying to groom him into the perfect civil servant? I thought you'd have given up by now. You of all people should know, the more you try to bend Sherlock to your will the more he resists, just to spite you."

Mycroft crossed his arms, his smile widening. "You remember him well. Can you really blame me for trying?"

"I never understood why you tried in the first place."

Mycroft made a small "hmpf" with the back of his throat and stood abruptly. Alex watched as he pulled a large brown envelope from his inside jacket pocket.

"Well I must be off. See that Sherlock gets this will you?"

"What is it?" she asked even as she reached out instinctively.

"It's what he asked for," he answered cryptically and turned to leave.

Alex stared at the envelope, surprised at the thought of Sherlock asking Mycroft for anything. The sound of the door opening distracted her from the mysterious envelope and she stood up quickly.

"So that's it? You're not going to try and make me leave?"

"Oh I don't think that would sit well with anyone right now," he smiled. "But in the meantime, just know we'll be watching."

He shut the door behind him gently and Alex remained still for a few minutes, staring at the envelope still grasped in her right hand and trying to figure out what he had meant by "_we'll_ be watching."

She dropped the envelope onto the pile of clutter on the table, fighting the urge to tear it open and see what sort of information Sherlock had needed Mycroft to acquire. Instead she sat down in front of the small lunch she had prepared before Mycroft's arrival but her appetite was mostly gone. She picked at the food slowly, her eyes darting between her snack and the envelope.

After a few short minutes she gave up on her food completely and placed the dishes in the sink. She wandered around the flat, pushing some of the clutter into the corners to give the illusion of cleanliness but not really tidying anything up. She kept skirting around the envelope curiously.

What could it be? Is it something about me, or the investigation? She groaned and turned away, cursing Mycroft for leaving it with her. She was almost certain he'd done it to make her crazy.

She took the stairs that led to John's room two at a time, putting some distance between her and the object of her curiosity. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in John's small mirror and smiled wickedly. She was still wearing what she'd slept in last night: a thin tank top and pajama bottoms. She hadn't even bothered to put on a robe. That must have driven Mycroft, the epitome of all things proper, completely mad. That thought alone was enough to make her feel better.

She dressed for the day slowly, more out of habit than anything else. The clasp on her jeans slid into place easily and she slipped a plain cotton shirt over her head before heading back downstairs. Alex sat in Mycroft's vacated seat and drew her knees up to her chest, once again regarding the envelope on the table.

She knew she shouldn't open it, not when Sherlock's lack of trust in her was so thinly veiled.

But what could it hurt? Especially if it were something about her. She had a right to know… didn't she?

Before she could convince herself otherwise the envelope was in her hands again. She'd made her decision, she wouldn't open it… but that wouldn't stop her from trying to see what it was.

Alex jumped up and removed the shade of the nearest lamp, holding the envelope up to the light. She pressed closer, the heat from the bulb uncomfortable against her skin as she tried to read through the envelope. After thirty seconds of turning it this way and that she realized she wasn't going to see anything and pulled back.

"Damn," she breathed quietly.

"The grain of that paper is much too coarse to see through with an ordinary bulb."

Alex jumped and whirled around to find Sherlock standing near the door. She'd been so distracted she hadn't even heard it open.

"How long have you been there?"

Sherlock ignored her as he removed his coat and tossed it over the back of the sofa. "You could try turning the kettle on and use the steam to open it, but that takes a great deal of something you don't seem to have… patience."

Alex couldn't stop the shameful blush that stole across her cheeks as Sherlock stepped forward and held out his hand for the envelope. She walked the short distance and placed it in his palm, not bothering to replace the light shade.

"You just missed your brother."

"I know. I waited for him to leave. He sat in his town car for twenty minutes," he added in irritation as he examined the envelope in his hand.

Alex laughed softly, the small action lighting up her face. "It's good to know some things don't change."

Sherlock eyes darted to her smiling face briefly before sinking into the armchair, one long finger slipping under the seam and ripping the envelope easily.

Alex remained standing and watched as Sherlock's eyes quickly swept over the documents inside. She waited as long as she could before her curiosity and impatience got the better of her.

"Well what is it?"

"Your financials… more specifically your interests in Smythe Shipping," he answered honestly, eyes never leaving the papers in his lap.

Alex perched on the edge of the couch in confusion. "Wait, you needed your brother for this?" She didn't bother asking why he hadn't just asked her.

"I could have gotten the information, but not as quickly as Mycroft. He has resources everywhere." He continued perusing the papers another minute, before stuffing them back inside the envelope and meeting her gaze with determination.

"You lied to John. You said you weren't involved in your husbands company…"

"I wasn't," she interrupted.

"And yet, on paper, you practically own it."

Alex groaned in exasperation, already tired of explaining herself. "I don't want it! Everything about it reminds me of him!"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he regarded her curiously. "That may account for some but not all. You're far too opportunistic to pass up the monthly stipend." Sherlock leaned forward eagerly, his elbows on his knees. "What goes on there that you're reluctant to be a part of? It must be something very immoral indeed, if you're willing to pass up this kind of money."

She ignored the pointed insult and seemed to deflate all at once, a pained expression on her face. "I don't have any proof…" she hesitated but Sherlock gestured for her to continue. "After the funeral I stuck around for awhile… tried to be a part of the business. But when I'd go through the records there was always more cash than could be accounted for. You know…" Alex struggled to make herself understood. "A shipment would be delivered but there would be more money, a lot more than what the shipment was worth."

Sherlock nodded that he understood. "Why did you think that was?"

"I had no idea at first… But then a week or so later I was walking home after having a drink and a man approached me. He was probably a few years younger than me, kind of… shabby looking I guess… Anyway, he tried to buy coke from me." Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise and she continued. "I was completely astonished. I thought it was a joke but he was adamant. He kept insisting that I worked for Smythe…"

"What did you do?"

"I got away from him as quick as I could and went home. The next day I confronted John about it but he said it was nothing and not to worry. But I knew he was lying. A week later I got on a bus and left. I didn't tell anyone."

"You didn't go to the police?"

Alex smiled sadly and shook her head. "It's like you said… I basically owned the company. I was afraid that if it were true I'd be implemented as well."

Sherlock studied her solemnly for several minutes before speaking again. "Do you think he knew? Your husband?"

Exhaling slowly, Alexandra cradled her head in her hands. "I don't know," she spoke softly, voice slightly muffled. "I don't see how he could not know."

When she looked at him again she appeared suddenly tired, her eyes slightly wet. "I'll never know now, will I?"

Sherlock held her gaze, waiting to see if she had more to tell. After a long moment he rose, tucking the envelope into his jacket pocket.

"You'll need to tell Lestrade." He titled his head down as he spoke and for the first time Alexandra noticed how exhausted he looked. He was even paler than normal, which was saying something considering he was usually only slightly tanner than bed linen. The dark smears beneath his eyes stood out in contrast and his entire manner was slow, almost sluggish. The man before her was so unlike the one she had come to know again over the past few weeks… the Sherlock that almost vibrated with energy.

"Are you listening to me?"

Alex blinked and her eyes refocused to find him frowning down at her in irritation.

"Have you been sleeping?" she asked, ignoring his question.

"What?"

"You look tired."

Sherlock shook his head, his frown turning into a scowl. "How is that relevant?"

"I'm just making an observation. So what is it? This new case you've got?"

Sherlock waved his hands dismissively. "No, no, that's done. Brother-in-law."

"Oh good…" Alex paused, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly. "So the, erm, ears in the refrigerator…"

He returned her smile. "Have served their purpose and will be leaving soon."

"Thank goodness," Alex laughed and her eyes dropped to her lap in relief.

When she glanced back up, Sherlock was still watching her; an odd confused expression on his face as though he were desperately trying to understand something. It made him look even more tired.

"You know," Alex began slowly, choosing her words with care. "I could stay with you… at night…"

Sherlock seemed to come to life all at once. He shook his head vigorously and moved several paces away from her. "Absolutely not!"

"I don't mean… I only meant for sleeping!" she protested loudly, slightly hurt at his quick dismissal. "You told me once that my just being there helped you sleep."

An image of the two of them lying, fully clothed, on Sherlock's tiny bed at Three Elms popped into her mind. It was cramped and he took up most of the bed just lying on his back. Alex was pressed against his side with his arm across her back and her head tucked under his chin…

Alex closed her eyes and shivered at the memory. When she opened them Sherlock was staring at her again, his eyes dark, and she wondered if he'd seen the same thing.

"That was different," he spoke finally.

"How?"

"I was in withdrawal… we both were. You were distracting and calming at the same time."

She clasped her hands together nervously, surprised to hear him speak of her in that way. "You were the same for me… we could still be that."

"It's out of the question!" he growled suddenly, making Alex jump. He spun on his heels, moving quickly towards his room.

"Then what can I do Sherlock?" she called after him. "I just want to help. I feel utterly useless."

"You can tell Lestrade what you've told me," he shouted back, now out of sight.

Alex rose and followed the sound of his voice to his bedroom, stopping just outside his doorway and crossing her arms against her stomach.

"You don't really think this is about money?" she asked as she peered into the room. It wasn't messy exactly, but cluttered, like the rest of the flat. She could hear Sherlock rustling around to her left but she couldn't see him.

Alex stayed motionless, waiting for him to respond. She didn't dare enter his room without his permission… not anymore. He'd loved setting boundaries back then and she could only imagine those boundaries had gotten stricter with time.

The rustling stopped abruptly and Sherlock appeared before her. She inhaled sharply to have him there so suddenly and so close that the flat plane of his chest was all she could see. He had abandoned his jacket and Alex's eyes wandered up, over his white buttoned shirt, long neck and the swell of his Adam's apple until her eyes rested on his face. Her head was tilted upwards harshly and she remembered just how much taller than her he really was.

He stood stiffly, one hand gripping the side of the door as he stared down at her.

"I don't," he answered simply.

"Then why bother telling Lestrade?"

Sherlock exhaled tiredly, a cold determination in his eyes that wasn't there before, and she could feel the hot puff of air on her face, tickling her skin.

"Because, despite appearances, I can be wrong and I have made mistakes… especially where you were concerned."

He stepped back and shut the door softly, leaving Alex alone on the other side, his parting words repeating in her head. They hadn't been said in anger or cruelty but with a heavy sadness that was unmistakable and she knew, without a doubt, that he believed every word.

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**More action coming soon! Please leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Here's chapter 11! Sorry for the delay! **

**Many thanks to purpleflames, x-Pick'n'Mix-x, FlyingHampsterOfDoom, laced-with-fire, Aimee, E. Edwin, itsbeautiful9, dramagoddess202, Anonymity, that one chicken, and Moonspun Dragon for reviewing the last chapter. You guys motivate me to continue no matter how bogged down in other things I get. Thanks for your support!**

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Alex watched as the last sliver of sunlight disappeared behind the open blinds. She rose from John's bed without thinking and walked the short distance to his desk in the rapidly darkening room. With a click she switched on the lamp, bathing the room in soft, artificial light.

Sighing, she flopped onto her back on the bed once again.

She'd neither seen nor heard Sherlock since he's so curtly dismissed her a few hours earlier.

She'd stared at his closed door in stunned silence for a long time, surprised at how much his words had stung her. The thought of Sherlock opening his door to find her still standing there finally roused her and she'd hastened back to her borrowed room, deep in thought.

What did he mean he'd made mistakes, especially where she was concerned?

Did he think it a mistake that they became friends? Or was it what came after?

Maybe he regretted meeting her at all.

These thoughts had occupied her throughout the rest of the afternoon and now it appeared they would follow her into the evening.

Alex had managed to convince herself of only one thing in that short time: even if Sherlock might think otherwise, she certainly didn't regret meeting him.

Inhaling sharply, Alex sat up in the bed, her mouth set in an 'o' of surprise.

She knew, at last, why his words had hurt her.

She had _liked _Sherlock. She'd enjoyed his company and the comfort he offered while she was at Three Elms. But it was more than that… she cared about him, even if he didn't always see it. Everything she'd done, every action, had been in his best interest. Even leaving.

Knowing that he didn't feel the same way, that he thought of her as a mistake, bothered her. She'd gone so long without caring about what anyone else thought of her. Now that she knew how much she valued his opinion, that what he thought of her mattered so deeply, she was more than a little unnerved.

Alex groaned and pushed herself off the bed. She had to get out of this room. Sitting there, thinking about Sherlock was going to drive her insane.

She needed a distraction.

Without knowing exactly what she was going to do, Alex slipped on her shoes and headed downstairs. She passed Sherlock's room and found his door still closed. Alex hoped he was finally getting some sleep as she quietly left the flat.

She shuffled her feet in hesitation on the main landing, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth in thought.

Alex knew if she left 221 Baker Street the officer in the car Lestrade had posted outside would try to stop her.

Her eyes wandered over the hallway, resting briefly on the door to Mrs. Hudson's flat, before traveling downward to the discarded raincoat and umbrella.

But what if he didn't recognize her?

She knew it was a long shot, even if most of Lestrade's officers appeared to be morons, but she picked up the coat and umbrella anyway.

The slick material of the raincoat was still wet as she pulled it over her arms and water dripped from the umbrella as she carried it to the door.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped out into the rain. She popped open the umbrella in front of her and turned quickly, tilting the top to the side in an attempt to hide her from view.

She hoped that it looked like she was holding the umbrella that way to better shield her from the light rain but she suspected she only looked ridiculous.

She hurried down the street, slowing slightly as she reached the first intersection. Her heart beat frantically as she glanced behind her but there was no sign of movement from the police car. She felt the tension in her shoulders ease and straightened the umbrella as she turned down the next street.

Alex smiled in triumph.

She still had no idea where she was going but just being out, on her own, felt wonderful.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she was being unreasonable. That sneaking out, with all that had happened over the past weeks, was an unnecessary risk.

Lestrade and John would be furious.

Sherlock would probably manage some mild irritation.

That thought made her hesitate, shoes slipping slightly on the wet pavement as she came to an abrupt stop.

She ignored the annoyed glare from the man behind her as he was forced to step around and slowly began moving again.

A quiet unease settled over her, momentarily disrupting the joy she'd felt at her temporary freedom. Alex weaved in between the evening shoppers as the rain began to fall in earnest and she shivered slightly. She spotted an elderly couple entering a small café in front of her and she followed as the wind picked up and blew rain beneath the safety of the umbrella. She collapsed it carefully, doing her best to not splatter the other patrons with water, and made her way to the back. Almost as soon as she was seated at the tiny two-seater a waitress appeared out of nowhere.

Alex ordered a coffee from the tall, smiling woman and wrapped her hands around the mug's warmth. She sipped it slowly, enjoying its bitter taste and the way its heat seemed to radiate outward from her throat until the chill from outside was forced away.

The small café was crowded, its customers taking refuge against the sudden downpour, and Alex allowed her eyes to wander.

The elderly couple she followed in was sitting at a booth towards the front and two men seemed to be having a very serious conversation at the next table. A small family sat close by, and she couldn't help but notice the mother's eyes were haggard as she tried to keep the toddler in line.

But it was the young couple to her right, at the far end of the counter, that held her attention.

They were facing each other on the small stools, so close their knees bumped together with every movement. They were both smiling, speaking softly, as they leaned towards one another.

They couldn't be more than twenty and displayed all the signs of new love… when everything was still so exciting and every little gesture suggested something deeper.

Alex watched as the man leaned forward even more, one knee sliding in between the woman's. He reached up and cupped her face between his hands, pulling her forward until their lips met.

Alex dropped her gaze to the table top in embarrassment, not wanting to be caught trespassing on the intimate moment.

She sighed and raised her cup to her lips as an image of Charles swam before her eyes.

It had been like that between them, the constant need to touch and caress one another. They hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other. She could count on one hand the number of men that had that effect on her… hell she could count them with two fingers…

Another image crept up suddenly, forcing Charles away, and Alex could feel her heart beating faster.

It was Sherlock, not as he was now, but as she first remembered him; painfully thin and pale with hair so short it was almost nonexistent.

It hadn't been exactly like that with Sherlock. It couldn't be, not at the rehab center, where that sort of fraternization between patients was frowned upon. There were no secret caresses or public displays of affection. Just a private passion that had threatened to overwhelm her.

Alex shuddered and set the mug down.

No. She'd be lying to herself if she said Charles was the only man to make her feel that way…

_She had been at Three Elms for almost a month and she'd been shagging Brian for almost half that time._

_It was a miracle they hadn't been found out._

_They met up in storage closets, offices after hours, and once even the bathroom. Brian had keys to everything, it seemed._

_By unspoken agreement they avoided her room. That would be too personal and she wasn't harboring any illusions about Brian._

_He was using her the same way she was using him. The only difference was for him it was sex with no worries or repercussions… he was a man after all._

_For Alex it was about the distraction, about feeling something other than the addiction._

_She would never admit it, but it was really like she'd traded one addiction for another._

_When she wasn't having a private session with Doctor Madison (or screwing Brian in the mop closet) she was with Sherlock. After their adventure in Madison's office they developed a certain familiarity with one another. Some might even call it friendship. They ate their meals together, they spent their recreational time together and they always paired up in group. Sometimes they would talk… well she would talk and Sherlock would interject something when it suited him… and sometimes they would sit in companionable silence, simply enjoying not being alone._

_She didn't think he knew what she was doing with Brian but, on occasion, he would look at her so intently, and with just the slightest hint of disapproval, that she was certain he must know everything._

_On Wednesday evenings she met with Doctor Madison, and this particular Wednesday appeared to be no different as she closed the door to his office loudly. The man was infuriating with his questions and Alex knew he'd cringe when the door slammed into the frame._

_It had become their ritual… she'd meet with him once a week and answer his questions while deflecting those she deemed to personal. When they were finished she would, despite his many protests, slam the door. It felt good, her tiny act of rebellion._

_She hurried back to the patient rooms. The clock on Madison's desk told her it was late and Alex figured she had an hour, tops, before curfew started and she was forced back into her 'cell'. She stopped outside of a room that wasn't her own and knocked softly. She didn't wait for an answer before pushing the door open and letting it swing shut behind her._

_Sherlock lay on his back in the small bed, his head propped up on a pillow and a large book in his hands. His eyes flicked to her briefly but he didn't speak as he turned a page._

"_I swear sometimes I just want to…" Alex trailed off and extended her arms, miming wrapping her hands around the Doctor's neck._

_She kicked off her shoes and shuffled, barefoot, towards the bed._

"_He keeps trying to get me to talk about my parents. He thinks they're connected to my problem but they aren't!" she insisted._

_She climbed over Sherlock nimbly and lay on her side facing him, her back pressed to the wall. He slid over unconsciously, giving her room to get situated._

_The first time she'd done this, just crawled into his bed, he'd flinched and glanced at her oddly. He'd never actually objected though, and she'd been doing it ever since._

"_Does he ask you about your parents?"_

"_Sometimes," Sherlock answered simply and turned another page._

"_What does he ask?"_

_Alex watched as Sherlock clenched his jaw and his upper body tensed. _

"_Never mind," she spoke quickly and propped herself up on an elbow. Alex had spent enough time with Sherlock to recognize when he was uncomfortable. She stared at him quietly, waiting for the tightness in his jaw to ease._

_Her gaze traveled upwards as he turned another page, traveling over the swell of his lips, his large nose and prominent cheekbones to his beautiful eyes and unusually long eyelashes. She turned her head curiously as she regarded him. He wasn't conventionally attractive but there was something there. Something interesting and unique about the way he looked that appealed to her._

_Alex closed her eyes and shook her head slightly, unsure of where those thoughts had come from. When she opened them again Sherlock was staring at her out of the corners of his eyes and her breath caught in her throat._

_God, those eyes really were gorgeous._

_They returned to his book after only a few seconds and Alex had to try twice before she could find her voice._

"_What are you reading?"_

"_A book," he answered without looking._

_Alex rolled her eyes but couldn't stop a smile from forming. _

"_I know, I meant… oh forget it."_

_Alex waited patiently while Sherlock continued to read, the only sound the quiet rustle of the pages. After a few minutes her restlessness got the better of her and she pushed on his shoulder gently._

"_Really? You're just going to keep reading?" she asked incredulously. "Talk to me Sherlock. I'm bored."_

_His eyes flicked to her briefly before returning to his book._

"_Perhaps you wouldn't be bored if you found something to read as well. You can read can't you?" Sherlock spoke condescendingly but Alex thought she heard just the tiniest touch of amusement in his voice._

_Sherlock glanced at her again and this time his eyes were twinkling mischievously. Alex's mouth fell open in surprise as she realized he was making fun of her. Playfulness was definitely not something she's seen from him before and it shocked her into silence for a moment._

_After a few seconds an idea popped into her head and she smiled._

"_You're right, I need a book. Maybe I should just take that one."_

_Sherlock's hand stilled mid-page and he turned his head towards her, returning her smile as though daring her to try._

_With a speed she didn't know she possessed, Alex pushed herself up and snatched the heavy volume out of his hands. She only had a moment to savor his shocked expression before he pounced. _

_She squealed in surprise and tried to turn away, only to find the wall in her way. With no where to go, she extended her arms above her head to keep the book out of Sherlock's much longer reach as they struggled._

_Alex laughed lightly and switched hands just as he managed to grasp her left arm. He pushed forward with his knees and reached out for her other arm, causing the upper half of his body to hover over her own as he stretched. She felt the book fall from her fingers as he grabbed her right wrist and they both froze as it hit the carpet with a soft thunk._

_Their eyes found each other instantly and Alex felt her pulse speed up as she became aware of his proximity. He loosened his hold on her wrist but left it there, above their heads, as he stared down at her curiously._

_They were both breathing heavily, chests rising and falling the only movement. _

_Their faces couldn't be more than a hands width apart and Alex shivered nervously as she realized how easy it would be to close that distance and…_

_Her tongue swiped over her bottom lip, moistening it subconsciously._

_Sherlock's eyes flicked down to her mouth at the motion and when Alex saw them roll back into his head slightly she made her decision._

_In the space of two heartbeats she lifted her head and brushed her lips against his own, so softly it wasn't even a kiss, merely contact._

_Alex paused, keeping her lips still against his own, waiting for him to object. When he didn't she pressed harder, opening her mouth slightly and moving her lips against his until she felt him respond._

_Almost as soon as he had begun to kiss her back he tensed and pulled away, giving Alex a glimpse of wide, startled eyes before he released her wrist and rolled onto his back next to her. Her head lolled to the side, following him._

_His normally pale face was tinged red as he stared at the ceiling with eyes so large and unblinking she had the brief impression she was looking at an owl._

"_I'm sorry Sherlock," Alex began softly, trying to keep her voice calm despite its threatening to break at his obvious rejection. "I shouldn't have done that alright. I'm sorry."_

_He didn't speak but continued his examination of the ceiling. Alex turned her head and closed her eyes, fighting the urge to cry._

_She'd ruined it now, she knew it. _

_The only friend she had in this place and she had to go and snog him._

_Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid…_

"_Ilikedit."_

_Alex paused in her chastising and turned towards Sherlock again._

"_What?"_

"_I liked it," he repeated slower, his face becoming even more red. _

_Alex felt a warmth spread through her and she sat up to better see him._

"_Me too," she spoke quietly as she stared down at him, easily reading the apprehension and uncertainty in his eyes. He was normally so closed off and hard to read, Alex didn't know if she should be flattered or worried that he was letting his emotions play across his face for her to see._

_Alex reached out tentatively and traced her hand over his cheek._

"_I liked it too," she repeated more confidently in an attempt to reassure not only Sherlock but herself._

_She watched as one of Sherlock's large hands closed over her own, stopping it's slow progress across his face. Their eyes met again and Alex could see the internal struggle, as though he were warring with himself over how to proceed. _

_His expression flickered and something seemed to slide into place inside him. _

_She knew he'd made his decision. _

_The worry and unease she'd seen before was suddenly replaced with a resolve and trust that made her gasp. She almost pulled her hand from under his own at the intensity of his gaze, suddenly not sure of what she was getting herself into, but she found herself unable or unwilling to move._

_Sherlock seemed to sense this new reluctance and lifted her hand away from his cheek, entwining it with his own and resting them together on his chest. He reached up with his other hand and curled it around the base of her neck._

_There was no getting away now._

_Not that she wanted to anymore, with Sherlock's fingers tracing an intricate, feathery pattern over the exposed skin of her collar. She closed her eyes, enjoying the pleasant sensation of his touch, and Sherlock pressed slightly harder on her neck, coaxing her towards him._

_This time it was Sherlock who initiated contact, lifting his head to cover her mouth with his own. _

_It was chaste at first. Slow, studied movements along her jaw and lips as though he were trying to memorize them. It quickly became more frenzied and Sherlock moved his hand from her neck to fist in her hair, tilting her head farther to the side._

_Alex shivered with pleasure when she felt his tongue prod her lips, silently willing her to open to him._

_She did so eagerly, moaning against his mouth, and the kiss became more heated, neither willing to break apart until the need for air burned their lungs and they pulled away._

_Alex sighed and rested her forehead against his, waiting for her breathing to slow. When she felt she could speak normally she pulled back just far enough to see his face._

"_Are you sure about this?"_

_He stared at her a moment, his beautiful eyes dark with a desire that secretly thrilled her. He opened his mouth as though to speak but then changed his mind. Alex felt the hand in her hair tighten before he crushed her to him and resumed their feverish embrace…_

"Can I get you some more?"

Alex jumped and coffee sloshed over the sides of her mug, leaving dark splotches of liquid on the formica.

The waitress came to her rescue, quickly producing a rag from her pocket.

"Maybe I should cut you off," she teased as she wiped the mess off the table. "Where were you just now? Some place good?"

Alexandra felt her cheeks burn and knew she was blushing.

The waitress' smile grew impossibly wide. "I'll take that as a yes." She stuffed the soiled cloth back into her apron. "Now, if I get you some more do you promise to keep it in the cup?" she asked jokingly.

"No… I mean, no thank you. I'm fine."

Alex stood up shakily as soon as the taller woman left. She dropped a few crumpled bills on the table and picked Mrs. Hudson's umbrella off the floor. She glanced to her right but the affectionate couple were gone and their things had been cleared away. She had no idea how long she'd been lost in that memory.

The rain was no longer falling and she carried the umbrella limply in her left hand as she continued on her way.

She walked absently, as though in a daze, for almost a hour. Whenever she stopped moving she saw Sherlock in the back of her mind. She could almost feel his hands in her hair and his mouth on her skin.

So she kept moving. She passed fewer and fewer people as the night wore on and finally decided it was time to turn back.

After all, her distraction hadn't worked anyway. Sherlock was more on her mind now than ever.

With a sigh she began to turn around but a sudden noise from across the street stopped her. It was a shuffling of some sort, followed by a splash. Almost as though a heavy footed person had walked quickly through a puddle. She turned towards the sound but she was alone on the street.

Alex felt an itch begin between her shoulder blades and she knew something wasn't right. She turned quickly and made her way down the street, following the sounds of traffic. Her grip tightened on the umbrella as her mind played tricks on her and she imagined heavy footsteps from behind.

She heard them again, this time much louder, and faltered, her heart pounding in her chest.

She hadn't imagined that one.

Alex leaned forward and began to run but a warm hand closed over her forearm. She screamed and swung around in a panic, raising the umbrella as a weapon, but another hand wrapped around it and wrenched it from her grasp.

"You are an idiot."

Alex froze. She recognized that deep, angry voice. She tilted her head up to see her attacker's face only to find Sherlock standing before her with a sour expression and the collar of his coat turned up against the wind.

"Are you determined to get yourself killed?" He sneered and released her arm.

She released a breath she hadn't even known she was holding and took a step back.

"God Sherlock, I thought…" she trailed off and shook her head before continuing. "I thought I was being followed." She raised her hand to rub at her eyes but stopped in surprise when she realized it was trembling.

"You were. _I _was following you."

"No I meant… never mind. How did you find me?"

Sherlock frowned. "I've been following you since you left the flat. It's the only reason Lestrade's officer didn't come after you. You didn't fool anyone with that disguise." His lip curled at "disguise" and he gestured towards Mrs. Hudson's raincoat.

"Why didn't you make yourself known sooner?"

Sherlock tilted her head and regarded her seriously for a long moment before answering.

"You looked like you wanted to be alone."

"Yeah, well you're loosing your touch. If you'd been more stealthy and not stepped in that puddle I'd never have known you were there. I'd still be alone."

Sherlock tensed, his face growing even more serious. "What?"

"The puddle. I heard you."

He shook his head vehemently and stepped towards her. "I didn't step in any puddle. Where did you hear it?"

Alex's eyes widened at his sudden excitement and turned, pointing into the distance. "At the end, on the other side."

Sherlock stepped around her, his eyes scanning the street. She stepped up next to him and placed her hand on his arm.

"It was probably nothing. An animal or…" She stopped when she felt his arm tense and his whole body went rigid. "What is it?" She followed his gaze to the end of the street.

A dark figure had appeared out of the shadows. It just stood there, staring in their direction. Alex could just make out a man's slight form, his back slightly hunched and his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Sherlock?"

"I think you might have been right," he spoke quietly, his eyes still on the figure at the end of the street. "I think we're being followed."

"You're serious?" she asked nervously.

He reached down and took her hand, holding it tightly at his side. "Get ready to move when I say."

Alex glanced at their hands in shock and then back to the man's dark outline. As she watched he began to move, taking small quick steps towards them and raising his arm.

"Run," Sherlock whispered and tugged on her hand.

"What?"

He turned and pulled her with him, quickly gathering speed as he moved them away from the approaching figure. He glanced over his shoulder and then down at Alex. He smiled slightly when he caught her gaze. It was reassuring and unnerving at the same time.

"Ready?"

Alex nodded and gripped his hand tighter, her eyes determined as she focused on the street in front of her.

"Run!"

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**Finally something more than allusions towards a romantic past between Sherlock and Alexandra!**

**What did you guys think? Am I keeping Sherlock in character? Leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Here's chapter 12! I hope you enjoy it!**

**Thanks to itsbeautiful9, dramagoddess202, x-Pick'n'Mix-x, Moonspun Dragon, Aimee, purpleflames, XMillieX, laced-with-fire, and JuubiOokami for reviewing the last chapter. Your feedback really helps and just makes me day!**

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The pavement was wet and slick as they sprinted down the street, away from the dark figure. Alex cursed the worn out tread on her old trainers as she slid and almost fell for the third time. Only Sherlock's tight, and now sweaty, grip on her hand kept her upright. She was lagging behind again, Sherlock's arm stretched out behind him. He kept glancing back, first at her and then farther past. There was no reassurance in his grim expression but she didn't dare turn her head to see for herself.

Alex gasped and almost cried out when a shooting pain erupted from her right thigh. She knew instantly that it came from the most concentrated area of burns on her body. Now that she'd felt it she couldn't stop. It felt like the tight scar tissue was stretching and threatening to split apart violently.

Only the adrenaline and fear coursing through her kept her running as Sherlock steered them towards the more populated streets.

They rounded a corner and a middle aged couple jumped apart in surprise as they came barreling through. But still Sherlock didn't stop. After almost ten minutes of nothing but the feel of her shoes slapping the pavement harshly and Sherlock's damp hand gripping her own, he slowed down.

Sherlock turned and spoke before coming to a complete stop but the sound of blood rushing through her ears masked it. She only saw his mouth form words she couldn't understand.

He released her hand with no warning and she almost fell but caught herself on the side of a brick building. Alex turned and leaned her back against the wall, panting heavily. She was surprised to see that Sherlock was now several meters away, his eyes scanning the street rapidly in both directions. She thought it odd that she hadn't seen him move.

Her right leg was now burning so severely she wondered if it was going to catch fire. With slow, tentative movements she began rubbing small circles over the area in an attempt to unknot the muscle. With her other hand she wiped the moisture off her flushed face. She struggled to control her ragged breaths and stop her heart from pounding while she waited for Sherlock to finish his thorough scan of the street.

When he was convinced they were no longer being followed he rejoined her.

"He's gone," he spoke calmly despite the vigorous exercise. In fact, the only evidence that he'd been running like a madman was his slightly red face and the sweat on his brow. Alex stared at him in disbelief, only half registering his words as he continued to speak. For the first time she wondered exactly what kind of life he led that had him accustomed to this kind of physical abuse.

"… around the corner… are you listening?" Sherlock stepped closer, his eyes narrowed in concern. "Did you hear a word I said?"

Alex shook herself visibly, trying to snap out of the haze her mind had settled into.

"Sorry, I seem to have trouble focusing. I keep getting distracted, I don't know why."

"You're in shock," he said matter-of-factly, as though it explained everything.

Alex rested her head against the rough brick and closed her eyes for a moment.

"I heard you say he was gone, but who was it? Did you get a good look at him?"

"It could have been no one."

Alex's eyes popped open in bewilderment. "Then why did we run?"

"Because it could have been the man we've been looking for and I've seen what he's capable of."

Alex let his words sink in for several seconds before lowering her eyes in shame.

"I'm sorry Sherlock. I shouldn't have left… I was just so tired of being cooped up… It was reckless, but nothing unusual had happened in awhile and I really thought it would be alright."

"He has demonstrated his patience on more than one occasion. He's not going to just go away." He spoke calmly but his tone reminded her of the way her mother used to scold her.

"Well what is he waiting for?" She was angry now, adrenaline still working overtime and spurring her on. "I can't live like this forever Sherlock." She held his gaze fiercely. "I _won't_," she added with more conviction.

Sherlock smiled slightly and something inside of her unclenched. She was pleased to see that he didn't seem angry. At the same time she was annoyed at how exhilarated he appeared after their little adventure. Especially when all she wanted to do was curl into a ball and never move again.

"No one expects you to," he began, the smile growing wider. "Eventually he'll make a mistake. They always do."

Alex weighed his words, hoping he would be proven right. She stepped away from the wall and winced when her right leg threatened to buckle. Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he watched.

"Are you alright?"

"I think so, just sore." She experimented with putting more weight on her right leg and cringed.

"The adrenaline could be masking a more serious injury," he stated with little emotion.

"No I think it's alright."

Sherlock nodded and didn't press the matter.

"Baker Street is two blocks that way," he pointed. "Can you make it or should I get a taxi?"

Alex stared at him in astonishment. "How can that be? I thought I'd gotten farther away than that."

"It would appear I know my way around a bit better than you," he smirked.

Alex declined the taxi, if it really was only two blocks to the flat. They walked back slowly, or in Alex's case, limped back slowly. She still felt dazed. Separate from her own body except for the pain in her leg. In a way she was grateful for the pain at that particular moment. It was the only thing keeping her grounded and somewhat focused.

She glanced up at Sherlock several times but he was busy scrutinizing every dark corner they passed. She dropped her gaze to his side and smiled. He still had Mrs. Hudson's umbrella in his hand.

They spilled out onto Baker Street almost directly across from the flat and she followed him to the unmarked police car.

Sherlock rapped on the window sharply with his knuckles and the officer rolled it down. Alex watched him speak, rather rudely, to the young man inside before turning away. Sherlock had left the lights on in the flat and they seemed to glow through the open curtains, contrasting greatly with the darkness.

She was exhausted suddenly and so cold. She wrapped her arms, still clad in the wet slicker, across her chest but it didn't help. Alex knew that whatever had given her the extra boost of energy that had kept her going before was retreating. For some reason she couldn't think of the word, but she knew Sherlock had said it earlier… It started with an 'A'.

What was it? I should know this, she thought and wondered if maybe she wasn't worse off than she believed.

She shivered and glanced over her shoulder to find Sherlock still berating the cop. He looked like he was enjoying himself and might be awhile. She was eager to get out of the cold so she shuffled across the street slowly, her eyes trained on the door of 221b.

She never even saw the car.

Her feet lifted off the road as she was tackled from behind. For a split second she had the odd sensation that she was flying but one look at the rapidly approaching pavement and she knew she was wrong. A thought popped into her head but she didn't have time to make it out. Something about letting her arms hit first?

Her head connected with the hard road and nausea overtook her, bright stars exploding in front of her eyes.

Oh right, she thought. Use you're arms to lesson the impact. Too late now.

The pain was immediate and excruciating. It made the ache in her leg feel like a mild discomfort. She barely registered the hands that rolled her to her back and ghosted over her body in search of injuries.

A crowd was gathering and she didn't know why. Her hearing came and went, filling her throbbing head with random snippets of conversation like "idiot driver" and "too fast" and "license plate" and "call an ambulance"…

She sat up in a panic when she heard the last and instantly wished she hadn't. Alex managed to lean to the side before emptying the contents of her stomach onto the street. Her throat burned when she was through but she did feel better, her head clearer. She sat up straight and recognized Sherlock kneeling on her other side but most of the crowd had dissipated. Apparently their sympathies didn't extend to the disgusting.

"What happened?" she croaked and rubbed her throat gingerly.

"You were crossing the street and nearly got hit."

"Nearly?"

"I managed to get you out of the way in time."

Alex snapped to attention suddenly.

"Oh god, you didn't…?"

"No I didn't get hit either," Sherlock interrupted.

She sat as still as possible, a million jumbled thoughts running through her throbbing head.

"Was it…?"

"No," he interrupted again, fairly certain he knew what she was going to ask. "I don't think it has anything to do with your… situation. But just in case I've got the plate number right here." Sherlock tapped the side of his head.

Alex reached up to rub her forehead where most of the pain was concentrated but immediately pulled her hand away in shock. There was a knot on the side of her forehead the size of a golf ball and her hand came away wet with blood.

Sherlock frowned in embarrassment. "That's my fault I'm afraid. In my haste I may have pushed you too hard. But I think you'll agree it beats the alternative. An ambulance is on the way."

"NO!" She spoke so loudly and so forcefully that a spasm spiraled through her head and she was hit with a fresh wave of nausea. "No," she continued more quietly after a few seconds. "No more hospitals please. I'm just scraped up and bruised, I'll be fine."

Sherlock gave her a look that said he clearly didn't believe her.

"You could have a concussion."

Alex shook her head and winced. She closed her eyes and held her head in both hands, as though it would put an end to the sensation that something was rattling around inside her skull.

"I don't care. No more hospitals," she spoke stubbornly.

Sherlock nodded quickly and stood up. He could hear the fear in her voice, despite her attempt to hide it, and decided not to force her. But just in case he slid his phone from his pocket and texted John. If Alexandra refused the hospital at least he could have John come to her. Sherlock smiled to himself. It wasn't the first time he's recognized the added benefit of having a doctor as his only friend.

He exchanged a few terse words with the officer, who was now standing beside his car, before returning to Alex.

"Let's get you inside."

He helped her stand and she swayed on the balls of her feet at the sudden dizziness. She leaned into him, fisting her hands into his coat as they slowly made their way out of the street and away from the few gawkers still left.

Mrs. Hudson met them at the door and held it open. She and Sherlock shared a grim look as he passed her the umbrella but she wisely, though perhaps uncharacteristically, didn't speak.

Maneuvering her up the stairs proved more difficult. If he weren't so unsure how she would react, he would have preferred carrying her to this maddeningly slow pace. When they reached the top she heard the high shrill of the ambulance and turned questioning eyes to Sherlock.

He shook his head absently in response. "Carrow will send them off."

It took her a long time, a lot longer than it should have, to realize that must be the policeman's name. Officer Carrow.

Sherlock helped her remove the raincoat and sat her on the sofa before disappearing. When he returned he handed her the small bottle of pain killers they'd given her at the hospital. Some medication with a long name that she couldn't pronounce or spell. After watching her struggle with the childproof cap for a few seconds he sat next to her and snatched the container from her hands. He popped the cap easily and left again.

Alex tipped the bottle in a daze and let two pills fall into her palm. After a seconds thought she repeated the process and added three more. Almost three times the recommended dosage but she just couldn't make herself care. Anything to dull the agony. She tilted her head back and swallowed them easily, catching a glimpse of herself in the dark screen of the small television in the process.

Her face looked like someone had gone after her with a very dull vegetable peeler. Despite the numerous scrapes that had already started to mend there was very little blood, except for a large gash near the bump at her hairline. She examined the bump gently, wincing at its tenderness.

Sherlock returned, this time with a glass of water, a damp washcloth and a first aid kit. He handed her the glass and she accepted is gratefully, eager to rid her mouth of the acidy taste of vomit. He sat next to her again and indicated that she should face him before picking up the damp cloth.

He raised it to her face and awkwardly began to wipe some of the blood away. She winced and caught his wrist, stopping his hand.

"I'm not helpless," she spoke so quietly it was almost a whisper.

"I know."

He let her take the rag and clean the dirt and blood from her face. As she worked she could feel the pleasant numbness of the drugs taking effect, slowly pushing away the pain and replacing it with a certain emptiness that she recognized from years of drug abuse.

Sherlock passed her the antibiotic ointment from the kit, his eyes never leaving her. In a matter of seconds his quick brain had taken note of everything: her sluggish movements, slowed breathing, pink-tinged cheeks, pinprick pupils, heavy eyelids, slight tremor in her hand and her tight mouth. He knew instantly that she was already feeling the pain medication and that she'd taken more than was necessary. He was debating on whether or not to say as much, knowing it would cause and argument, when she finished and met his gaze.

"Have you got a plaster in there?"

He nodded and dug around in the kit for the right size.

"I'm surprised you even have one of those," she added, her self-induced haze making her chatty.

"I'm nothing if not practical."

Alex tilted her head to the side and stared at him with obvious skepticism.

The corner of his mouth turned up wryly. "Fine, it's John's."

Alex laughed suddenly, a loud chortle that startled them both. He took advantage of her amusement and leaned towards her. He covered the large gash with the plaster, smoothing down the ends gently with his fingers.

A breath caught in her throat that had nothing to do with the pain and she stopped laughing.

He felt her tense immediately and pulled back but she caught his hand and scooted forwards on the sofa until her legs were brushing his side.

A whispered 'thank you' passed from her lips as she leaned forward, eager to feel the heat and euphoria of his touch again.

She attacked his mouth with a desperation that she would later blame on the drugs. She was only spurred on when his lips began moving under her own. She crawled forward until she was half sitting in his lap, trying to get as close to him as she could.

The shock and surprise Sherlock had first felt receded after a few minutes and he pulled away, cradling her face in his hands to keep her from following. He stared into her heavy-lidded eyes for several seconds before speaking.

"You're high," he spoke softly, his tone appalled.

"Only a bit," she responded quickly. "Does it really matter? Besides," she rocked her hips against his obvious arousal, "you were enjoying it."

Sherlock shuddered and closed his eyes as she moved. He dropped his hands to her waist to keep her still.

"Biological response," he stated through clenched teeth. "The difference is, I can control myself."

"But why would you want to?" Now that his hands were on her waist she was able to lean forward again and slowly kiss along his jaw line. She spoke again, her words punctuated by each tiny peck.

"It's not (kiss) like (kiss) it would be (kiss) the first (kiss) time." She ended on his mouth, applying just the slightest pressure before pulling back to stare into those eyes that she loved.

"I missed you."

Alex gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. She hadn't meant to say that.

Sherlock's head tilted curiously and she had a second to reflect on the negative effects of her drug addled mind (mainly her complete lack of a filter) before he removed her hand and replaced it with his mouth.

His hands moved to her back, pressing her closer, and she let herself get lost in the thrill of it all; the feel of his hands gliding over her back through her thin t-shirt, her own hands twisted in his hair and then the silky feel of his tongue against her own…

"Ahem…"

They both froze suddenly, lips hovering against each other. They turned at the same time to find John framed in the open doorway, gaping at them with equal parts amazement and confusion.

* * *

**Leave a review and let me know what you think of the story. Any criticism, as long as it's constructive, is most welcome! Thanks again!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Wow! I recieved more reviews for the last chapter than I have for any chapter EVER! Thanks to Amelli-Kara, purpleflames, that one chicken, Jillie Rose, E. Edwin, Vilentiel, adarnnya, Moonspun Dragon, x-Pick'n'Mix-x, XMillieX, Aimee, itsbeautiful9, speck211, JuubiOokami, bgm76, 88dragon06, laced-with-fire, and Anonymity for reviewing!**

**This chapter's a bit shorter than I'm used to but it seemed like the right place to end...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

If there had been a pin they would have heard it drop.

If there had been a cricket it would have chirped. It would have rubbed those little wings together furiously.

In other words, the silence was deafening.

John stared at the pair of them, entwined together on the sofa, in shock. His mouth opened and closed several times as he attempted speech but he couldn't think of anything to say.

It was true, he'd had his suspicions from the start but to have them so blatantly confirmed, right before his eyes, had him completely dumbfounded.

Sherlock and Alex remained utterly still, equally thrown by John's sudden appearance, even as Sherlock chided himself for not expecting it. He had, after all, texted the Doctor less than a half an hour before.

Quick footsteps on the stairs made them all jump and Sherlock shifted his eyes past John's shoulder just as Sarah entered the flat.

"You could have waited for me to pay the taxi you know… oh hello." Sarah's eyes widened as they fell on the couch.

It seemed a fourth would be added to their impromptu staring contest as her gaze remained on them for several seconds. But then she turned to John, surprising them all with her bluntness.

"I thought you said he was gay?"

It didn't seem possible, but John's eyes grew even larger.

"What?" He jerked his head towards his girlfriend. "I didn't say that!"

Sarah gave him a look that clearly said he had.

"I didn't!" His head swung back to Sherlock. "I didn't!" he repeated, his voice slightly higher. John cleared his throat in an attempt to gather himself.

"I swear I didn't," he tried more calmly. "What I actually said was…" He stopped himself when he noticed the slight crook of Sherlock's mouth and the mischievous glint in his eye.

The bastard is enjoying this, John realized in annoyance. He waved his hands in front of him to put an end to the awkward conversation.

"Oh sod off," he smiled before getting straight to business. "Look, your cryptic text said you needed a doctor." He gestured to himself and Sarah. "I've brought two. What's wrong?"

Sherlock pushed gently on Alexandra's waist and she moved off his lap to sit next to him. He crossed his legs immediately to hide the slight bulge in his trousers before things got awkward again.

"Alexandra had a near miss with a car. She hit her head. Her disorientation, lack of motor coordination and vomiting suggested she might have a concussion," Sherlock stated quickly.

John shifted his gaze to Alex, surprised he hadn't noticed the small scrapes covering her face or the swollen bruise on her head.

But then he had been distracted.

Sherlock stood up abruptly. "I'll let you look her over. Excuse me." He nodded in Sarah's general direction and walked to his room stiffly. If either John or Sarah noticed any evidence of his… condition, they wisely held their tongues.

"Right… okay…" John's eyes followed his retreating back until the door closed and he turned to Alex.

"Alex this is Sarah."

"How do you do," she smiled unsurely, embarrassed at having been caught in the compromising position. She seemed to be the only one that had yet to recover from it. She remained seated and let them come to her, not quite ready to trust her legs after the combination of pain killers and Sherlock's clever mouth.

"I was beginning to wonder if you really existed," Alex spoke as Sarah took Sherlock's vacated seat.

"Here I am in the flesh," she replied a little too brightly as she took hold of Alex's chin.

She examined her face closely, flinching slightly at the knot on her head.

Alex remained still as Sarah inspected the scrapes but she watched John curiously out of the corner of her eye. She couldn't understand why he was letting this woman she didn't know touch her when he was perfectly capable…

"Ow!"

"Sorry," Sarah apologized and pulled her finger away from the bump on Alex's forehead. "I needed to see how hard it was." She held the same finger in front of Alex's face. "Try to follow it with only your eyes."

She tried to do as Sarah asked but she simply couldn't make her eyes cooperate. Every time she tried to focus on Sarah's finger she felt a sharp pain just behind her eyes and had to close them.

"That's alright," Sarah said gently and moved her hand to Alex's wrist.

"What exactly happened?"

Alex shifted until she could see John again. "I was crossing the street and not paying attention. Sherlock says he grabbed me from behind but I don't really remember."

"That's not a good sign." John frowned and stared at Alex curiously, his jaw clenched.

She could tell that he wanted to ask what she and Sherlock were doing in the street in the first place but something was holding him back. She wondered if it was Sarah's presence that made him silent. Maybe he hadn't told Sarah what was going on? No that couldn't be right. Even Alex's sluggish mind knew he would have had trouble explaining why a strange woman was sleeping in his room without telling his girlfriend everything. Maybe he…

"What did you take?"

Alex started and tried to focus on the woman next to her.

"What?"

"You've taken something, I'm assuming for the pain. I just wanted to know what."

Alex's gaze flew to the pill bottled on the table just as John snatched it up.

"They're prescription," she almost shouted, immediately defensive.

John held the bottle close to his face. "Oxycodone terephthalate."

Alex watched as Sarah and John shared a knowing look.

"How many did you take?"

Alex sighed and rubbed her eyes, fighting the growing urge to close them. She knew there was no point lying. Not when her own body had already betrayed her.

"Five."

"Okay," Sarah spoke crisply and Alex's eyes flew open in surprise. She'd expected a lecture.

"We need to get you too a bed because you're body is ready to crash," she continued.

John and Sarah helped her stand and climb the stairs to his room. Sarah surprised them again when she made a cheeky comment about Alex preferring the bed in Sherlock's room and even in her exhausted haze she felt her cheeks burn.

She crawled onto the bed fully clothed and quickly began to doze off. Just before her mind and body completely surrendered to sleep she heard John and Sarah's quiet voices.

"And for the record," he whispered to Sarah, "what I said was 'for all I know, he could be gay.'"

Sarah smiled and settled herself into the desk chair. "Well I think it's safe to say you've finally got your answer." She paused, deep in exaggerated thought. "Although I suppose he could go both ways. You know, enjoy the company of both women and men…"

"Stop! Just… stop."

* * *

John descended the stairs a short while later and found Sherlock seated in the kitchen. He looked up expectantly as John entered.

"She had a mild concussion but she'll be alright," he spoke quickly, easily interpreting that taller man's questioning look. "She's asleep now."

Sherlock regarded him dubiously. "Is that wise, letting her sleep if she has a concussion?"

John waved his hand dismissively as he began to make tea.

"That's why Sarah's with her," he began calmly. John filled the kettle with water and set it on the hob. He could feel Sherlock's eyes on his back as he moved around the small kitchen, waiting for him to explain. Once everything was in place for the tea and he only had to wait for the water to boil he turned around.

"We'll wake her every hour, just to be sure, but we both think she'll be fine. Really, with the number of pills she took we wouldn't be able to keep her awake anyway."

Silence fell over the kitchen again as they stared at each other. John watched as Sherlock crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, as though waiting for him to ask the inevitable questions.

John swallowed once and sat across from Sherlock at the table.

"What exactly did I walk in on earlier?"

Sherlock waited a few seconds before answering. "I was being attacked."

John smiled slightly. "Really? You didn't look like you were putting up much of a fight." He paused and grew serious again, his expression reluctant. He'd never broached the topic before, despite his curiosity, and he wasn't certain how Sherlock would react to such a personal question.

"Who was she to you Sherlock?"

Sherlock tensed, his arms tightening across his chest. "You know…"

"I want to hear you say it."

Sherlock sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes for several seconds and let some of the tension slip from his shoulders. When he opened them again they were filled with exhaustion and a certain despondency that John had never seen.

It unsettled him, seeing his usually emotionless flat mate this way. John opened his mouth to tell him to forget he asked but Sherlock spoke before he had a chance.

"She was the first."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the astonished expression on John's face.

"Not that _'first'_, you moron… I was twenty-two years old when I met her, after all," he spoke with just the slightest hint of irritation.

Sherlock paused, his expression softening somewhat as he resigned himself to what he was about to say.

"I know I can be difficult. That I'm… different from most. Alexandra was the first person I'd ever met that just didn't care. She never tried to change me or make me better. She accepted me… completely."

Sherlock's eyes widened, as though his next thought had surprised even him.

"And I think I loved her for that, I really did. Then she left and I was angry for a long time. But mostly, I just missed her. I'd never missed anyone before."

John blinked at this unexpected revelation. It wasn't hard for him to believe that Sherlock had loved someone. He was, despite popular opinion, only human. And John knew that Sherlock cared about him, even if it was partially because he was one of the few who could put up with his eccentricities. No, it was the fact that he had just admitted it, out loud, that had him stunned.

The kettle screamed at them suddenly and John jumped out of his chair, grateful for the temporary distraction. He busied himself with the tea, using the time to collect himself and organize his thoughts. One thing still bothered him and when he was finished he sat back down, his mouth set in a determined line.

"Why do you always seem so angry with her then? One would think, if what you said were true, that you'd just be happy to have her back in your life."

John sipped the hot tea cautiously, waiting to see how Sherlock would answer. He took a long time, seemingly choosing his words with care, and John began to wonder if he would answer at all when he finally spoke.

"Loved. Past tense," he began softly. "I'm not the same person. Besides," he added, almost as an afterthought, "I knew she couldn't be trusted, even then."

"And yet you say you loved her?"

"I was young," Sherlock answered simply and John shook his head in confusion.

"Wait, hold on… why didn't you trust her? Because she left you?"

"No I knew before that."

"Then why, what happened?"

Sherlock exhaled slowly and a shadow passed over his eyes. In just a matter of seconds John knew that the new, sharing Sherlock had gone. The Sherlock before him now was one he was familiar with. The calculating, closed-off one that would never answer his personal questions.

"Fine," John sighed in defeat. "Will you at least explain how Alex wound up with a concussion?"

Sherlock recounted the events from earlier in the evening; how Alex had left without telling anyone, how he had heard and followed her. He left out the borrowed raincoat and umbrella and he didn't tell John how he waited outside the café in the rain for nearly an hour.

John sat up straight, suddenly very interested, when he told him about the mysterious man in the street who'd been following them.

"What did you do?"

"What seemed like the best idea at the time… we ran."

"Is that when the car almost hit her?"

"What?" Sherlock asked in confusion.

"The car…"

"No she was fine, though a little disoriented… very disoriented," he admitted hurriedly. "It was when we got back, just outside, that she wandered into the street."

John nodded. He knew what happened after that. The Doctor set his tea down and leaned back in his chair, mulling over Sherlock's words.

"Do you really think this man was following you?" he asked after several seconds of silence.

"I told Alexandra I wasn't certain…"

"That isn't an answer."

Sherlock almost smiled. "No it isn't. I didn't want to frighten her more than she already was, but yes, I think he was following her… us. Now whether or not it's the same man responsible for the fires is yet to be seen."

John leaned forward, resting his arms on the table top. "I have to admit I'm surprised you didn't confront him. Doesn't seem much like you, running _away_ from trouble… seeking it out yeah but…"

"He was armed and I wasn't alone," Sherlock spat, putting an end to the conversation.

John didn't bother asking how he knew the other man was armed. He knew better than that.

Sherlock's mobile trilled from where it sat on the table and John jumped slightly. He could feel it's vibrations through the wood.

Sherlock snatched it up quickly, not bothering to check the caller I.D.

"What," he answered hastily, almost angrily. John watched as Sherlock listened to whoever was on the other end and paled slightly.

"That's impossible… no, it can't be… I'm telling you, you're wrong… alright, I'm on my way." He closed the phone and sprang up from the table. John hesitated only a second before following him into his room.

"Who was that?"

Sherlock slipped on his coat and hastened for the door. "Lestrade," he called over his shoulder. "Someone's confessed to setting the fires at Wellington's flat and the abandoned house."

John froze in surprise, almost stumbling on the carpet, as Sherlock turned towards him. He could easily see the familiar excited glint in his friend's eyes.

"Are you going to come with me or stand there like an idiot?"

Sherlock didn't wait for a response as he hastened out the door.

* * *

**Leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	14. Chapter 14

**And here's chapter 14! Sorry for the delay...**

**Thanks to all that read the last chapter and especially to 88dragon06, purpleflames, itsbeautiful9, XMillieX, Moonspun Dragon, Aimee, E. Edwin, x-Pick'n'Mix-X, Anonymity, laced-with-fire, lee, and akisura12 for reviewing!**

**It gets a bit racy in this chapter but I still think the T rating stands. Let me know if you think otherwise.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"It isn't him," Sherlock repeated and pressed closer to the one way glass. He and John had left Sarah to watch over Alex and hurried to Scotland Yard. Lestrade had let them watch from the anteroom of one of the many interrogation rooms the modern building offered. The entire process had taken only forty-five minutes and now Lestrade and Sergeant Donovan had joined them in the small, dark room.

"You heard him Sherlock, he's confessed to almost everything," Lestrade sighed. "He knows about the words on the walls, the photograph, the bomb… why would he admit to all that?"

Sherlock leaned forward, pushing his nose into the glass as he watched the strange man in the other room. Lestrade had told them he had no identification but claimed his name was Sam Spade. John had laughed when he heard this, earning an odd look from Sherlock. He was forced to quickly explain the fictional detective and his counterpart, Humphrey Bogart. It almost led to an argument when John refused to believe that Sherlock didn't know who Humphrey Bogart was but he quickly remembered why they were there and let it slide. There were more pressing matters.

The man was short, almost ridiculously so, with a young face. His hair was falling out though, the little bit left sat in blonde tufts on his head, and it was almost impossible to judge his age. He was modestly dressed in crisp denim jeans and a t-shirt. Sherlock watched as he flitted about the room from corner to corner, stopping every so often to smile and whisper something they couldn't hear.

"It isn't him," Sherlock protested again and stepped away from the glass. "He's clearly insane."

"You would know," Sally mumbled under her breath but he ignored her, instead turning to Lestrade.

"Everything he said to you was rehearsed. Someone told him to say those things."

"Why? Why would he agree to it and risk going to prison?"

Sherlock turned back to the window just as the man was climbing onto the table. Lestrade shook his head in disbelief and gestured for Donovan to deal with it. Sherlock waited for her to leave before speaking again.

"He's playing with us. It's all just a game to him. When you called and said someone had confessed my first thought was he's trying to lull us into complacency. Get us to lower our guard before he strikes. But not with this," he waved his hand at the short man in disgust, "mess. He's just making fun of us now."

The DI sighed again and leaned against the wall. "Yes I thought the same. I was just hoping… But you're right, everything was too precise. What in the world am I supposed to do with him now?"

"Call a few psychiatric wards and see if they're one short?" John joked as he watched Sally try to coax the man down through the glass. It was easy to see her patience was wearing thin.

Sherlock glanced at John sharply. "Yes of course. What made you realize?"

"Um, realize what?" he asked in confusion.

Sherlock blinked at him for a few seconds before realizing that he'd been trying to make a joke. He rolled his eyes and turned to Lestrade.

"He's right, you need to start calling psych wards. They are missing a patient."

"How do you know?" Lestrade asked, his eyes widening. "He could be some crazy person off the street."

Sherlock turned his attention to the man again, who was off the table but now huddled in a corner as far from Sally as he could go. Sherlock smirked slightly. He knew the feeling.

"Look at his clothes," he began quickly, eager to show them what they'd failed to see. "They're brand new, never been washed, but his shoes are hospital issued. More like slippers really. The person that dressed him is the person that sent him here."

"Why wouldn't he change the shoes too?" John questioned as he glanced at the man's feet.

"Don't know but I doubt it was accidental. He wanted him to be wearing those shoes. Just part of his game." He paused and turned towards Lestrade again. "And if you look closely I think you'll find the skin on his wrist has been rubbed raw from where he used to twist his hospital ID bracelet… I can't believe I came down here for this," he finished in exasperation.

"Oh so sorry," Lestrade spoke sarcastically, "but I thought you'd want to know."

John cleared his throat. "Well at any rate, it should give you something to go on. I mean you can't just walk in to a mental ward and steal a patient without someone seeing right?"

"It's worth looking into," Sherlock admitted. "But I doubt you'll find anything. This was far to deliberate for him to have made a mistake." He walked the short distance to the door. "If that's everything…"

"Don't you think you should tell him what happened earlier?" John spoke loudly and Sherlock froze with his hand on the doorknob.

He turned back around in confusion, his eyes wider than normal as he addressed John.

"I don't see how that's any business of his."

"What? What are you…?" John blushed as he realized what Sherlock thought he meant. "No, I mean the man you saw in the street. The one that chased you."

"What man?" Lestrade interjected curiously, his head turning between the two of them.

Comprehension showed on Sherlock's face and he frowned at John, mentally cursing him for bringing it up. He had no intention of telling Lestrade about the man who'd pursued them through the streets. He felt certain that if he did the DI would insist on upping their security detail and they'd be that much farther from catching the man responsible. The chance of him coming out into the open again was low already. Added protection certainly wouldn't entice him out.

Sherlock's expression changed in an instant and he smiled agreeably.

"John you exaggerate." He turned to Lestrade who was eyeing him suspiciously. "I assure you it was nothing. Merely an argument with a gentleman I came upon while out for a stroll. It's nothing to worry about," he simpered. "Now if you'll excuse me…"

He left before Lestrade could argue and made it to the end of the hall before John caught up with him.

"Sherlock wait! What was that? Why didn't you tell him?"

He stopped dead in his tracks at the taller man's sideways glance. He didn't like what he saw in those eyes.

"Oh God, what are you planning?" He shouted after him, forced to jog to catch up again.

"The police don't have to know everything John. In fact it makes everything considerably more difficult when they do."

"You want to find him yourself don't you?" John asked grimly and Sherlock smiled.

"You know what they say… if you want something done right…"

* * *

_It was never like in the movies or on TV, where two people fell into perfect rhythm. Where each one knew exactly what to do, when to touch and kiss. An easy give and take._

_No._

_Real life wasn't scripted._

_It was awkwardness and elbows. Bumping noses and scraping teeth. It was flesh and sweat and laughter and sharp intakes of breath when you managed to find that perfect spot._

_She loved this bit, the first time two people came together, fingers dancing over skin to make a mental map of your lovers body. Learning what they liked and didn't like was the best part. It was where the intimacy came from, this secret knowledge that, if you were lucky, few were privy too._

_And like always with the first time two people joined, it was over far too soon._

_Her hands gripped Sherlock's shoulders tightly as he shuddered inside her, thrusting once more before coming to completion._

_Alexandra closed her eyes and cried out, riding out the last waves of pleasure. She was left with a wonderfully full feeling and her whole body seemed to hum as Sherlock rested his forehead on her collar in exhaustion. He regained control much more quickly than she and rolled onto his back. She immediately felt the lose of his body heat and shivered. Alex turned her head to the side slowly to watch him, too tired to really move._

_His posture mirrored her own, flat on his back with his head turned towards her, and they found themselves staring at one another, unsure of how to behave now._

_If someone had told her the first time she'd met him that this would be the outcome, she would have laughed. Hell, she would have tried to have them committed._

_His lip twitched in time with her thoughts and she got the odd impression he was reading her mind._

"_That was…" Alex blinked and trailed off, unable to find the right words under Sherlock's attentive eyes. She saw her own uncertainty reflected back at her and forced it down until it was nothing more than a lump in her dry throat. There was no need for this awkwardness, not now._

_Without thinking she moistened her lips and closed the short distance between them, capturing his mouth in a chaste kiss. She pressed closer, removing the gaps still left, and her body sung at the feel of skin against skin again._

_It was easier this way… this was something she knew._

_Showing someone how she felt had always come more naturally than putting her emotions to words. _

_As the embrace became more heated she tried to so just that; to channel all of her desire, surprise and affection into the kiss. To reassure Sherlock and, if she were being honest, herself. To convince them both that this was what she wanted; that it wasn't a mistake._

_Or maybe she just wanted to snog him senseless… she knew she was too far gone for rational thought. _

_After a short time the need for air and her utter exhaustion made her pull away. Alex stifled a yawn and rested her head against his shoulder, unwilling to completely break contact._

_Sherlock shifted slightly and reached for the thin blanket that was tangled at their feet. He pulled it over them and Alex felt her eyes begin to close as she settled against him comfortably._

"_I should go," she mumbled into his shoulder, "but I don't want to move." She sighed and stretched languorously._

"_You don't have to."_

_She froze in surprise as Sherlock's deep voice washed over her. They were the first intelligible words he'd said in what seemed like a long time. He sounded much the same as he always did, though perhaps fatigued. But underneath his usual detached tone she thought she heard a certain vulnerability that frightened her and made his statement almost sound like a question._

_Alex shivered against him. She would like nothing more than to stay right where she was but she knew it wasn't a good idea. The staff was fond of random bed checks and it was only a matter of time before someone found out she wasn't where she was supposed to be._

_As though on cue, the door to Sherlock's room swung open and they both sat up in shock, Alex scrambling to cover herself with the blanket. For a split second she had the strange sensation that it was her fault somehow, that her thoughts had made it happen. But she knew that was preposterous as her eyes settled on the man responsible._

_Brian took one step into the room and froze. His eyes flashed angrily but he didn't seem remotely surprised to find her there. He did, however, seem a little taken aback to find her naked and in Sherlock's bed. His gaze swept over the small room, quickly moving from the pile of discarded clothing to the flushed faces on the bed._

"_You have one minute," he spoke finally, his voice low and menacing, "to get dressed."_

_Brian shut the door in a calm manner than completely belied his previous statement and Alex hazarded a glance at Sherlock before jumping out of the bed. Her feet tangled slightly in the blanket and she stumbled but righted herself quickly before gathering up her clothes._

"_Shit, shit, shit, shit," she mumbled to herself as she pulled on her pajama like garments._

_This wasn't good. _

_Although no one had ever come out and said it specifically, Alex was fairly certain patients weren't supposed to form these kind of relationships. Add to that the fact that it was Brian who found them, the employee she absolutely knew she wasn't supposed to be sleeping with, and it wasn't hard to realize she was in trouble._

_Sherlock didn't bother moving but regarded her with a mounting wariness while she dressed. She was finished in a matter of seconds and took a few shuffling steps towards the door before remembering that she wasn't alone. _

_She turned to find Sherlock watching her curiously. He was still sitting up, his hands fisted at his sides and the blanket pooled in his lap._

_She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him not to worry, that it was only her fault that she wasn't in her own room, but she couldn't make the words come._

_One look at his face told her he wasn't concerned with that anyway._

"_It's not what you think," she began quickly, knowing full well it was probably exactly what he thought. "Brian and I…"_

_Sherlock shook his head back and forth, putting a stop to her hurried explanation._

"_I wasn't looking for an admission. I already know." _

_He paused as she looked away in embarrassment._

"_Just be careful," he added quietly and her eyes snapped back to him in surprise._

_His words made something low in her stomach tighten and before she could think she found herself kneeling next to him on the bed. She pressed her mouth to his firmly, snaking a hand around his neck to steady herself. She pulled back reluctantly after only a few seconds, her lips hovering near his own._

"_I will," she breathed quietly and turned, hurrying out the door without a backwards glance._

_Brian was waiting for her in the hall._

_He grabbed her by the arm before she could protest and steered her down the corridor._

"_What are you doing?" Alex struggled to free herself but his grip was like steel and he was moving so quickly she practically had to run to keep him from dragging her._

"_Be quiet," he spoke softly but she could hear the anger in his voice. His hand tightened on her upper arm and she winced._

_There'd be a bruise there tomorrow._

"_You're hurting me," she tried reasoning with him but he just kept going, eyes focused on something in front of him, until they came to her room._

_He opened the door and ushered her in, finally releasing her arm and she instinctively rubbed at the sore spot were his fingers had gripped with vice-like strength._

_He closed the door and advanced on her slowly. Alex backed up as he came, not trusting the wild look in his eyes. She'd never seen him like this. He was usually so reserved that nothing seemed to bother him. She'd only seen glimpses of this side of him when they slept together. After only a short time she'd realized his appetites tended to lean towards rough, almost violent, encounters. _

_She'd never complained._

_The more base parts of herself had even enjoyed it._

_But now, as he stalked towards her, she couldn't help but feel afraid._

_Her back hit the cold wall and she gasped in surprise._

"_I came to find you when my shift ended," he spoke quietly, so close now she could feel his breath hot on her face. "Imagine my surprise when you weren't in your bed."_

"_I…" _

"_Of course I knew where you would be," he continued quickly. "You're always with that freak."_

"_Don't call him that," she whispered sharply and he stepped closer, pushing her into the wall and forcing her legs apart with his knee._

"_I didn't realize you were such a little slut," he hissed. "Or were you just giving the freak a pity fuck?"_

_A loud clap resonated through the small room and Brian's face whipped to the side. It took her a moment to realize she'd slapped him and she pulled her hand back in surprise. Alex tried to brace herself for what she knew would come next but didn't have time to move before she felt her cheek collide with the back of his hand._

Alexandra's hand flew to her cheek as she bolted upright in the bed. She could almost feel the heat coming off her skin from where he had hit her, but she knew it wasn't real, not this time.

This time it was only a dream.

As Brian's angry image began to fade she realized she was alone in John's room, though she barely remembered getting there. Her brain was still groggy from sleep but she tried to recall the events of the previous day, checking off each memory as it returned.

They'd run from that man in the street.

She'd gotten scraped up when Sherlock had pushed her out of the path of that car.

She'd taken too many painkillers.

She'd snogged Sherlock.

John had showed up and she finally met Sarah.

She'd… wait…

She'd snogged Sherlock!

Alex blinked repeatedly as it came back to her.

"Oh God," she whispered, "I kissed him."

She let the words hang in the air and buried her face in her hands.

I really am an idiot, she thought. What was I thinking? Sherlock had made it perfectly clear that whatever it was they'd shared in the past was gone… But despite that, a thought niggled at the back of her mind, confusing her even more; she was fairly certain he had kissed her back.

Alex felt a sharp twinge at her temple, the beginnings of what promised to be a spectacular headache, and closed her eyes.

It was too much to think about now… or maybe ever.

Alex heard voices from below and opened her eyes. She walked gingerly to the door, wary of the floor squeaking beneath her feet, and she opened it only a crack. Sherlock's deep inflection and John's lighter one seemed to float through the gap but she still couldn't make out exactly what they were saying. Snippets of their conversation reached her ears and she quickly realized they were talking about the case. Opening the door wider, she peered down the stairs, eager for any new information. Before she could glean anything useful, however, a shadow passed over the base of the stairs and hesitated there.

A strange trepidation overcame her and she backed into the room, shutting the door as quietly as possible. She couldn't possibly face him right now. Not with her dream and the memory of last night fresh in her mind.

She leaned her back against the closed door and sighed.

She knew what she had to do.

She would wait until this whole ordeal was sorted out and the man responsible was behind bars. Then she'd go on her way; leave the maelstrom that was Sherlock's world just as easily as she'd returned to it.

The sooner the better.

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**Leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello again! So sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up. I always seem busier during the summer months and its hard to find the time to write.**

**But I promise you never ever have to worry about me abandoning this story!**

**Thanks to itsbeautiful9, E. Edwin, 88dragon06, XMillieX, Vilentiel, purpleflames, dramagoddess202, Aimee, x-Pick'n'Mix-X, Detectiveatwork, Moonspun Dragon, D-Syfer, SummerParamour, PwettyGurl, C'estMoiLiz, Anonymity, taytayfanatical, lee, winterchild890, greentoothbrush, and Fireflymaiden! You guys are amazing!**

**Now, many of you have never left a review... this is not good, not good at all... please leave a review and let me know what you think!**

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_**She knew what she had to do.**_

_**She would wait until this whole ordeal was sorted out and the man responsible was behind bars. Then she'd go on her way; leave the maelstrom that was Sherlock's world just as easily as she'd returned to it.**_

_**The sooner the better.**_

Maybe she could even help hurry it along…

With a newfound determination, Alex pushed away from the door and all but flung herself into John's desk chair. She searched the sparse drawers for a pen and paper, happy to find that was one of the few things the Doctor possessed. She scribbled frantically, back hunched over the desk in concentration. After a few seconds of continuous writing she paused to think before finally adding another item to her list. But this one she punctuated with a question mark.

Alexandra brushed a few errant hairs from her face and stared down at what she had written:

John Smythe

Charlie's parents

Wellington's parents/boyfriend

My parents

Brian

Mycroft?

She read through it slowly, pondering the last addition. He obviously didn't care for her. After all, he went to great lengths to get her away from his brother. But would he go so far as to have her killed? She didn't doubt he could do it if he wanted to. He certainly had the resources…

No, Alex thought suddenly and quickly scratched out his name. If Mycroft wanted her dead she'd be dead… and the method wouldn't be nearly as messy…

She almost smiled at that. If there was anything she could rely on, it was Mycroft's perseverance and practicality.

Alex shook her head and blinked several times, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. She read through the names again, taking the time to mull over each one.

There was John Smythe, who only a short time ago she would have called a friend. Now she was fairly certain his company, the same one that she technically owned, was a front for something else.

Mr. and Mrs. Claymore were more simple. They had never liked her and had even told Charlie as much. Alex suspected that they also blamed her for his death, however absurd that seemed. She moved to the next name on her list quickly as memories of her husband threatened to distract her.

Wellington's parents because of their deception and his boyfriend for the same reason. She'd overheard enough of he and Tom arguing on the phone to know how hurt he'd been by their arrangement.

Alex paused and stared at the paper in confusion as she read the next line; "my parents." She didn't really know what had prompted her to add them to the list. She'd done so without thinking. They hadn't seen each other in years but she keenly remembered their disappointment. But would they really try to have her killed? Would they go that far to erase the black mark on the family name? She didn't think so but history had proven she never really knew her family at all.

Alex sighed in exhaustion as she moved on to the next name.

"Brian," she whispered quietly and closed her eyes.

What a mistake that had been.

There was no questioning it… Brian Dannelly belonged on the list and nothing would convince her otherwise.

She blamed herself for most of what happened all those years ago. It was her rashness that had put everything in motion.

Alex chewed on her bottom lip in consternation. Eight years was a long time for anyone to hold onto their anger but Brian had never been one to forgive and forget. And she had quickly learned how callous he could be…

Her hand moved to her cheek as she remembered the dream and she sighed in relief that she woke before she was forced to relive what happened next…

Alex heard the door to John's bedroom begin to creak open suddenly and she hastily flipped the paper over before turning to meet her interrupter.

Sarah stood in the doorway with a small tray in her hands and a smile on her face.

"Hello. Alright if I come in?"

Alex blinked and opened her mouth but Sarah didn't wait for her to answer. She moved with quick precise steps and set the tray on the left side of the desk. On it sat a steaming mug of tea, a glass of water and a few biscuits that made her stomach rumble, reminding her that it had almost been a day since she'd last eaten.

"Have you been writing?" Sarah asked, nodding at the pen still clutched in Alex's hand.

Alex tore her eyes from the biscuits and placed her hand atop the paper protectively.

"I'm just working on something," Alex answered vaguely. She still wasn't entirely sure she could trust this woman. Though the fact that John seemed to care for her swayed her somewhat.

"Something to do with what's been happening?" Sarah probed nonchalantly.

Alexandra cleared her throat and dropped the pen on the desk, unsure of how to answer.

After a few seconds Sarah took pity on her and shook her head.

"Never mind, it's none of my business. I just came up to check on you. How do you feel?"

Alex blinked in surprise. She'd been so preoccupied by her list that she'd somehow forgotten her injuries. Now, with Sarah to remind her, they quickly filled her thoughts. She touched the knot on her head and winced as tiny shooting pains swam through her skull.

"My head hurts… and I'm tired. That's it really."

Sarah nodded matter-of-factly. "On the bed please."

When Alex didn't move she spoke again. "I need to look you over again. It'll be quick, I…"

"Where's John?" Alex interrupted.

Sarah's voice faltered and it took a few surprised seconds to find it again.

"He's at work. I had the day off and told him I'd stay here." Sarah recovered quickly, her expression a mix of annoyance and understanding. She stared down at Alex for a long moment before sighing. "You don't trust me, I get it. Why should you? You just met me."

Alex opened her mouth to interject, only to be stopped by a shake of the other woman's head.

"No let me finish. You don't trust me, but John does. And you trust John." Her expression softened as she continued. "He likes you. That makes me want to like you too… but you're not making it easy. You're living in my boyfriends flat, in his room no less, and every day you make his life that much more dangerous…"

"But I…"

"I know," Sarah waved her hand dismissively, "you didn't ask for his help. But that's John. He's too kind for his own good sometimes… look my point is, I think, given the circumstances, I've been more than understanding… so would you please just sit on the goddamn bed?"

They regarded each other silently for a few moments, Alex searching her mind for an appropriate response that never came. All she knew was that she couldn't argue with what Sarah had said. She was completely right.

Alex walked the short distance to the bed and perched on its edge, waiting for Sarah to follow.

Her tests were simple, many of them she'd performed the night before… like running a finger over her bruise then making her follow the same finger with her eyes. But this time she went a step further and produced a pen light from her pocket. She spoke softly while she shined it first in her left eye and then the right.

"You're probably tired because I had to wake you several times last night. Do you remember?"

"No, should I?" Alex flinched and closed her eyes as the light made the pounding in her head worsen.

"Not necessarily. You were only awake for a few seconds each time. I tried to wake you when you should have been reaching stage three or four of NREM, so you never completed the cycle. That's not going to leave you feeling rested."

"Do I have a concussion? Is that why you had to wake me?"

Sarah nodded and stepped back stuffing the small torch back into her right pocket and pulling a pill bottle from the other.

"We think so, John and I. Better safe than sorry." She popped the cap off the bottle and tipped two small pills into her palm before pocketing it again. "Here," Sarah spoke quietly and extended her hand. "For the headache. I'll give you some more later… if you need them."

Alex lowered her eyes in embarrassment but took the tiny tablets, swallowing them without water. Of course Sarah wouldn't leave the bottle with her, not after what happened last night. If their positions were reversed Alex thought she'd do the same. She was just grateful Sarah didn't say it outright, saving them from an awkward conversation.

"I made you some tea," Sarah turned as she spoke and walked towards the door. "It's probably cold now." She stopped in the doorway and leaned against the frame. "Try to eat the biscuits… you can have something more substantial later. It would probably make you sick now anyway."

"Thank you Sarah." Alex stared at her shoulder, unwilling to meet her eyes, but she still saw the slight smile that tightened the other woman's mouth.

"You'll be alright. You should try to sleep."

Sarah pulled the door shut behind her.

Alexandra sighed and fell backwards on the bed. She landed softly enough, but the movement sent a new wave of torture through her head and she was forced to close her eyes for a moment.

When she opened them again she found herself staring at the odd water stains on the ceiling. She'd been there long enough that they'd become familiar to her, almost comforting. There was the one that kind of looked like a fish, the lopsided top hat, the sail boat… her eyelids grew heavy and began to close…

Alex jerked upright suddenly, jarred awake by her own thoughts and glanced at the clock on John's desk. She'd dozed off for about twenty minutes. She rolled over sluggishly and tried to swallow but her throat was dry. She remembered the water Sarah had left on the desk and forced herself to get out of bed. She eagerly downed most of it but left the tea. She nibbled experimentally on the end of a biscuit and when she realized she wasn't going to be sick she attacked the plate until they were gone.

Yawning, she examined her list again, racking her brain to see if she'd forgotten anything but she couldn't think of anyone else. The list hadn't done what she had hoped anyway, she didn't feel any closer to figuring anything out. All it did was remind her of the people that hated her.

Alex left it laying on the desk and turned to stare at the small bed. She knew she should listen to Sarah and let her body rest but she was wary of dreaming again. The last one had seemed so real…

Alex stifled another yawn and took a few shuffling steps towards the bed. There was no winning this battle. She crawled into the bed reluctantly, not bothering to undress, and pulled the blanket over her head to guard against what little daylight was creeping through the window. Within minutes she was asleep.

If she dreamed she didn't remember.

When she woke again the room was gray and she felt as though she were suffocating. It took her a moment to realize the blanket was still over her head and she pulled it off quickly.

The clock on the desk told her it was early evening. She'd managed to sleep through the afternoon.

Alex sat up slowly and was pleased to find that her head wasn't pounding anymore. Now it was only a dull ache. She arched her back and stretched her arms out in front of her in an attempt to wake herself further. A black smudge on her forearm caught her eye and she cringed. It had to be from the road yesterday. Which, she realized, meant she was still wearing the clothes from the previous day. The same ones she'd ran, sweated and slammed into the road in.

She was sure she must smell lovely.

Alex left the bed and pulled the door open a crack, straining her ears for any sounds from below. She was in desperate need of a shower but she'd rather not run into Sherlock if she could avoid it. Not after how she'd behaved last night. She honestly had no idea what she would say or how he'd react, but every scenario she played out in her head had ended badly.

She listened for a moment but was met with only silence so she gathered up the tray and made her way downstairs. She dropped it off in the cluttered kitchen and took a few seconds to pour out the tea and rinse out the cups before setting them in the sink.

She found Sarah asleep on the sofa and the door to Sherlock's room open, but no sign of the man himself. She breathed a sigh of relief that he was out and allowed herself to relax as she went into the bathroom.

Alex kicked her dirty clothes into the corner to wash later and stepped into the tiny square shower. She took her time, letting the hot water beat on her shoulders and back, enjoying the way it alleviated the tension in her muscles.

When she finished she wiped the condensation from the mirror with her hand and stared at her reflection. She wasn't surprised to see she looked exactly how she felt; miserable.

She had a large bruise on her forehead, over and around the knot, and she was so pale it made it that much more noticeable. Most of the scrapes on her face had already healed but the gash at her hairline was proving more difficult. The area surrounding it was still angrily red and tender to the touch.

Alex peeled the plaster off carefully, grimacing at the way it tugged on her skin. She threw it in the waste bin and found the first aid kit Sherlock had used under the sink. She rubbed some salve over the laceration and covered it with a clean bandage. Finally, she combed her hair and wrapped a towel around herself, securing it just above her chest.

She poked her head out the door, scanning the room for any signs of life. When all she heard was Sarah's rhythmic breathing she ventured out. Sherlock's door was still open as she hurried past and up the stairs. Alex entered the relative safety of John's bedroom and froze in surprise.

Sherlock was seated at John's desk, staring down at the list she'd written earlier.

She couldn't move for several seconds, her breathe caught in her throat. Hoping he hadn't noticed her, she tried backing out of the room.

"I know you're there, you might as well come in," Sherlock stated calmly, his eyes never leaving the paper.

Alex couldn't stop the panic that set in. Now she was trapped. And she was in a towel. And her clothes were across the room.

"But I'm not dressed," she protested weakly.

That caught him off guard and he couldn't help but glance at her then, eyes slightly wider with shock. He recovered quickly however, eyes returning to the paper as though it had never happened.

"I've seen you in less," he spoke with disinterest and Alex couldn't stop the slight blush that tinted her pale face. She took a few steps into the room and stopped, waiting for him to speak or glance at her again. When he didn't she grew bolder and retrieved her clothes from the other side of the bed.

"What do you want Sherlock?"

She turned her back to him while she waited for a response and managed to shimmy into her underwear and jeans while still under the safety of the towel. But there was no way she'd get a bra on like that.

She glanced over her shoulder and found Sherlock still staring at the paper, but couldn't understand what he could possibly find so engrossing. He had to have read it a hundred times by now.

"Well?"

When he still remained silent she bristled with anger and turned back towards the wall. She dropped the towel in frustration and fumbled with her bra.

Oh she didn't miss this at all. His silence. She used to think he did it just to see how she'd react. Just to see how angry she'd get, like it was some sort of experiment, and she hated it.

Alex picked up her shirt and glanced behind her again but he wasn't staring at the paper. Sherlock's eyes were fixated on the middle of her back, right where she'd just secured the hooks. Her breath caught in her throat and his eyes moved upwards until they met her own.

He stared at her intently for only a few seconds but she felt like she'd been struck. She wouldn't have been more surprised if he'd actually hit her.

She blinked and, just like that, his head was tilted down, eyes focused on her list. Alex pulled on her shirt as quickly as she could and turned around.

"Look, if it's about what happened last night, I'm sorry. I shouldn't…"

"Why did you write this?"

Alex stopped mid sentence, slightly relieved that he'd interrupted her. Apparently the plan was to ignore last night completely. That was fine. If he could do it so could she.

"I was just thinking, trying to help."

"It's good."

And she thought she couldn't be more surprised. Alex started to smile and then…

"But wrong."

"Ah, that's more like it," she muttered under her breath and Sherlock glanced at her curiously. Alex shook her head quickly. "Nothing. What's wrong with it?"

"You do own Smythe Shipping and John Smythe is pursuing full ownership, but he's doing so legally. He's got records to verify everything. I suppose it could be a ruse but I've met him and…"

"He's not that smart," they both finished together. Sherlock smirked but Alex only looked confused.

"Why hasn't he contacted me then? I'll sign anything he gives me. I never see any money from it anyway."

"He's been out of the country, another reason he isn't involved. He could have hired someone but it'd show up somewhere. You can't hide that kind of money. I'm sure you'll be hearing from him soon."

"Hang on… when did you see him, if he's out of the country?"

Sherlock ignored her and moved down the list.

"You're in-laws are dead. Thomas Wellington's parents…"

"Wait. Go back. What did you say?" She couldn't possibly have heard him right.

"Henry and Elizabeth Claymore are dead. Car accident, three months ago."

Alex paled and sat down on the bed. "I didn't know."

Sherlock regarded her evenly for a few seconds before moving on.

"Thomas Wellington's parents and partner aren't holding any grudges. In fact, they met at the funeral and he's moved in with them."

That got Alex's attention.

"They know about Thom?"

"Apparently." He glanced back down at the list. "And you're parents, really?" he asked with just the slightest hint of mockery.

"Why not? Because they're my parents and they love me?" she returned sarcastically.

"No. Because they're rich. The elite don't have their problems killed. They drink heavily and repress them."

He answered her so seriously that she couldn't help but laugh even though there was truth in what he said.

Sherlock gave her an odd look but waited for her to finish before continuing.

"And if my brother wanted you dead, you'd be dead."

"I know, that's why I crossed him off," she said, still smiling at his previous statement.

They sat in silence for a moment, Alex going over what he'd said. She couldn't deny that it made sense. But wait…

"What about Brian?"

Sherlock exhaled slowly and she could tell he wasn't happy with what he was about to say.

"I haven't found him yet," he admitted awkwardly. "He's changed his name but it's only a matter of time before he turns up."

Alex leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "But you don't think he has anything to do with it?"

"I don't."

She sighed and closed her eyes in annoyance. "Then where are we? We've nothing to go on!"

"Not necessarily."

Alex opened her eyes and watched him curiously, waiting for an explanation.

He told her about the call from Lestrade and the strange man who'd confessed to the crimes but couldn't possibly be responsible. He assured her that they'd found the hospital he'd managed to escape, a small, privately funded institution in the north, and that he and Lestrade were going there tomorrow.

"Can I come?" she asked quietly.

"No."

"Why not?"

"You'll only get in the way."

Alex opened her mouth to argue but closed it just as quickly. There was no malice or judgment in his voice, only a quiet sincerity. He truly believed she'd be in the way, and that stung more than she cared to admit.

"Fine," she breathed and lowered her gaze so he wouldn't see her disappointment.

"I should go." Sherlock stood abruptly and made his way to the door. But he found himself hesitating at her side and Alex jumped slightly when he gripped her shoulder. She stared up at him in bewilderment but he was looking straight ahead, his body severe in its posture.

"This will end," he spoke so softly she barely heard him. "I promise."

Alex was stunned and didn't know what to say so she raised her arm and placed her hand over his own, her body moving of its own accord, leaning until she was pressed against his side.

Sherlock closed his eyes at the feel of her against him and didn't move away. He would allow himself this one slip, this one simple action that seemed to mean so much to her.

After a short time he opened his eyes and let his head clear. When he finally forced himself to pull away he felt her hand tighten on his own and sighed. He squeezed her shoulder gently and kept moving, forcing her to release his hand.

But for one short moment he was that kid again. And, for the first time, he felt like nothing had changed.

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**More action and flashbacks coming soon! Please review!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Hello again! Here's chapter 16...**

**Thanks to Amelli-Kara, 88dragon06, purpleflames, itsbeautiful9, Jabberswife, Chris T, XMillieX, laced-with-fire, E. Edwin, Aimee, Crunch Berry Baroness, VeeWillRockYou, and Bookwormiie for reviewing! You guys are fantastic! **

**Ok, so in Doyle's "The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter", where we first meet Mycroft (and all the sudden you're like "what? Sherlock has a brother?), Watson says that he'd never heard Sherlock refer to his family or his childhood at all. So I figure it's open to interpretation. This chapter contains a bit of what I imagine it might have been like...**

**Hope you enjoy!**

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Sherlock sighed and fought the urge to roll his eyes for the fourth time. He didn't know what had possessed him to accompany Lestrade and Donovan on this investigation. He would have been much better off on his own, or maybe just with John. But there he was, standing slightly apart from the others, completely and utterly bored.

The hospital, if it could be called that, was small and consisted of only two wards. The first was for those who checked themselves in of their own accord, a fact that Sherlock couldn't fathom. Why would anyone choose that? They were the low-risk short term patients. The other ward in the psychiatric hospital was reserved for those deemed potentially dangerous to themselves or others. They weren't given a choice in the matter.

Lestrade and Donovan, with John looking on, had been talking to the hospital administrator for half an hour, but Sherlock couldn't seem to pay attention. After he'd learned that "Sam Spade" was really Tim Cox, admitted by his family three years prior, and that the administrator had no idea how he'd gotten out, Sherlock had tuned out.

He harbored no illusions that they'd acquire any useful information from this place… no convenient clues to point them in the right direction. Whomever was behind this was far to clever to slip up now. He'd already managed to not only cover his tracks but to distract them with pointless leads and seemingly endless red herrings.

Yes, he was most certainly clever, and that intrigued and excited Sherlock more than he'd care to admit.

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that this hospital had been chosen for a reason. Why else would he take the time to break a madman out of his cage, dress him, and then send him to the police with a borrowed story?

Was it only to mock them? If so he'd succeeded.

But Sherlock knew there had to be more to it. It was all to deliberate to be for nothing. At any rate, it couldn't hurt to have a look around. He glanced at the others and sighed. They certainly weren't going to learn anything from the buttoned-up hospital administrator.

Sherlock stuffed his hands in his pockets and hazarded a few deliberate steps towards the nearest corridor but he stopped short and glanced over his shoulder. Lestrade was still deep in conversation with the administrator, pen flying over the small notepad in his hands, though Sherlock hadn't the faintest idea what he could find so useful.

But most importantly, no one was paying him the slightest bit of attention.

Unwise.

Sherlock smiled at his good fortune and disappeared into the hallway. He spotted an elderly gentleman and stopped, turning towards the wall and feigning interest in what he could only assume was some very bad patient artwork on display. He stepped away just as the man was passing and walked straight into him, grasping the old man by the arm to steady him.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sherlock smiled apologetically. "I wasn't paying attention."

The man smiled back, assuring him everything was fine, and Sherlock continued on, a newly acquired visitor's badge now pinned at his breast.

Sherlock took in his new surroundings and cringed inwardly. The ward was like any he'd seen that put mental health before physical health: wide corridors interspersed with offices, meeting rooms, a nurse's station, a game room, an area with sofas and armchairs and a large TV. And all painted various shades of blue and peach that doctors told them were soothing but in reality they only made you cold.

It was all very familiar, and as Sherlock ventured deeper and deeper into the building he began to realize just how much it reminded him of Three Elms.

It made sense, he reasoned. After all, they both served similar purposes; training the mind to abandon destructive behaviors. The only difference was in one they were trying to end your drug dependency and in the other drugs were often the answer.

Sherlock shivered slightly and pressed on. He'd been walking for less than ten minutes when he reached the second ward, set farther inside the hospital. He'd gathered enough from Lestrade's boring interrogation of the hospital staff to know that Tim Cox was housed here.

In front of him were two large glass doors and his eyes searched the walls for the scanner he knew would be there. He located it quickly, about one and a half meters off the ground, to the left of the doors and directly under a window with a sliding glass partition.

Sherlock scowled slightly. Keycard access… it always made things more difficult.

He glanced around him but he was alone in the hallway, no one with a security card for him to accidental "bump into", and no one stationed at the window.

It seemed unlikely but he grasped one of the glass door handles and tugged gently. He could hear the locking mechanism rattle slightly in the frame but the door didn't budge.

Just as he began debating whether or not he had the right tools to pick the lock, he heard soft, purposeful footsteps coming towards him.

"Can I help you with something," a young woman called from behind him, her tone already accusatory.

Sherlock turned quickly, easily adopting a slightly surprised yet pleasant demeanor.

"I certainly hope so," he smiled as he examined the young nurse. She was short and blonde but, more importantly, she had a security card fastened on a cord around her neck.

His smile widened as his gaze traveled down the rest of her body. When his eyes returned to her face she blushed and tried to look annoyed, but he could tell she was pleased.

Sherlock fought the urge to roll his eyes for the _fifth_ time that afternoon.

Of course she would think he was "checking her out" or whatever the expression was. They always did.

The reality was he'd just observed that her shoes and scrubs appeared brand new, she'd just had her nails done, and there was almost no wear on the magnetic strip of her security card. The new clothes and freshly painted nails told Sherlock she was just out of nursing school and she hadn't had a chance to wear them out yet. Of course, she could have just purchased them as a replacement but he doubted it. And obviously she had yet to realize how absurd it was to have her nails done right before work. More than likely, they'd only end up ruined by the end of her shift.

And he assumed, from the unused state of her security card, that she hadn't been working at the psych hospital for long.

All of these would work to his advantage.

"There appears to be some confusion," Sherlock continued earnestly. "I'm here to visit my cousin," he paused and pointed at the visitor's badge. "They gave me this in the front and said they'd call back to the long-term care facility but there's no one here."

"What's your cousin's name?"

Sherlock's brain worked over time.

It would be too suspicious to say Tim Cox. Most of the hospital had to know what had happened by now… an image of the badly painted art display he'd seen in the hallway popped into his head. A few of them had been signed…

"Deborah Block," he answered easily, only a second after she asked. Hopefully his good fortune would continue and she'd be a long-term patient or the nurse would be so green that she wouldn't know.

"Could you see if anyone's called back yet? Deborah doesn't have many visitors and this was the only time I could manage it this week." His tone was hopeful and he stepped forward, entering her personal space and completely trusting his talent for appearing sincere.

She was forced to tilt her head back to see his face. She studied his pleading eyes for only a few seconds before smiling sympathetically.

"I'll let you in and you can ask at the nurse's station inside. I'm sure they'll get you sorted out."

Sherlock beamed at her and stepped aside so she could swipe her card through the scanner. When her back was turned he let the cheerful mask slip away and rolled his eyes.

He gave this one two weeks at most, before they fired her.

Once inside, she pointed him towards the nurse's station and he thanked her profusely, inwardly cringing at her obvious reluctance to turn away.

Finally, she exited the way they'd come in and Sherlock strolled down the corridor in the opposite direction that she'd pointed.

There were very few patients wandering on their own in this ward and, while it still looked the same, the atmosphere was much more grim. Sherlock shoved his hands deep in his pockets and explored his surroundings, eyes searching for any clues that would tell him why this particular hospital was chosen, but he found none. They already knew the malefactor had no personal connection to this place or Tim Cox and Sherlock highly doubted he simply lived in the area. Everything up to now had been deliberate. So meticulously planned. This had to be too…

An eerie howl issued from behind him and Sherlock swung around to find a middle aged man, in nothing but sweatpants, running towards him at full speed.

He allowed himself one second of shock before flattening himself against the wall so the man could pass. He stayed there as three more men, this time in hospital issued scrubs, raced by, clearly in pursuit of the strange fellow.

His curiosity was piqued and he watched as one of the orderlies caught up with the man, grabbing him from behind and wrestling him to the ground.

He squealed and fought as the other two orderlies helped to hold him down. It was like a train wreck that Sherlock couldn't help but watch.

"Let me go, let me go! You can't keep me here!" the man screamed as he struggled and a similar image of himself floated through Sherlock's mind.

He suddenly felt sick.

It was all too familiar.

When the man stopped struggling and began sobbing Sherlock blanched and forced himself away from the wall. He moved from the scene in a daze. He felt dizzy, his mind a jumbled mess, as image after image was brought to the surface. His past was laid bare in his head and for the first time in years he couldn't stop the memories.

_Everything was fine on the surface. Everything was exactly right. _

_He would wake up, go to his classes and come home to study the material that was, for the most part, incredibly dull. Maybe he would go out after. Maybe not. The few friends he'd made at university were out of necessity only. A simple need to appear normal and nothing more. And while he allied himself with the most intelligent, they were no where near his level, a fact he never hesitated to remind them of._

_He suspected they didn't like him anymore than he liked them._

_It was his routine… his boring, mind-numbing routine._

_His parents didn't help. They approved of his patterns, encouraged them even. They virtually led his life for him, led their lives through him, and Sherlock let them. They were the ones who made him go to school, even though he didn't see the need. What could he possibly learn that he didn't already know? But that was what was expected. They made him learn the violin too and he could play, quite well, if he wanted. Though usually he preferred to use it as a tool to annoy those around him._

_His parents were always there, dictating how he should think and behave, bragging about his academic success to their friends like he was their possession._

_He never blamed them though, not really. He knew it couldn't have been easy for them, two people of average intelligence, having children like he and Mycroft._

Sherlock frowned slightly, his thoughts turning to his brother.

_Mycroft was older and not around much._

_By the time Sherlock entered university his brother hadn't been living at home for several years. He'd graduated and taken a job with the government not long after._

_This pleased their parents to no end._

_It annoyed Sherlock to the same end._

_They'd never really gotten along. From an early age they'd gone out of their way to harass each other and, with two extremely intelligent children, their methods of torture were never ending and appropriately inventive._

_He knew Mycroft was clever, even then. Possibly more clever than himself, not that he'd ever admit it._

_But as they grew older it was Mycroft's adaptability that irritated Sherlock. Everything seemed to happen so easily for him; family, friends, always at ease in every situation. It bothered Sherlock, not that he couldn't have everything his brother had, but that he didn't want it and couldn't understand why Mycroft did. Why would he choose to surround himself with simpering fools who would never be his match?_

_It all seemed so… boring._

_And that was it. That was what started it all._

_Boredom._

Sherlock slowed as he noticed a young nurse watching him suspiciously. He forced a smile to his face, turning slightly so she could see his pilfered visitors badge. This seemed enough to pacify her and she turned away.

The security here really was awful.

Sherlock shook his head sadly and returned to his thoughts.

_In a few short years his boredom grew to infinite proportions. Nothing would satisfy it. It felt like he had a great gapping pit inside him and, no matter how much he put into it, it was never full._

_He would have done anything and everything to alleviate it._

_And he did._

_He'd heard his classmates speak of it often; the energy, alertness, heightened senses and sexuality when they did cocaine. He had to admit, it sounded interesting. Of course, he knew the potential consequences, he'd read all about drug addiction. But, like everything else, he just couldn't seem to care. Why should he? If it helped him escape his own mind, even for a moment, it would be worth it._

_He was young._

_He asked some of the students he'd overheard and they seemed happy to help him, especially when they'd gotten over their shock that Sherlock had even deigned to speak to them._

_Once he knew where to get it there was no stopping him._

_And, oh they were right!_

_It was euphoria itself. Everything he touched, everything he saw, everything he did was enthralling. It made him feel sharper and extremely observant, noticing things he normally would have missed._

_And, oh dear God, the sex was amazing! It was something he'd had little interest in before but the coke made him so at ease with others, so confident, that soon he was approaching women he'd never dreamt of talking to before. And they liked him!_

_For the first time, he felt normal. It was magnificent._

_In the beginning…_

_The difficulty was it never lasted more than thirty minutes. So he had to do more. But the more he did the more tolerant he became. Eventually he was taking twice as much, then three times as much, and so on, to get the same effect._

_By nineteen he was completely addicted and no one knew._

_Snorting was his preferred method, it seemed to last the longest, but he'd smoke it if he had too. He never injected it. There'd be too much physical evidence and that would mar his perfect surface._

_He lived this way for nearly three years, all through university. It had its ups and downs of course. There were times when the money would run out and he'd go weeks without it. The depression and panic that set in then was debilitating and he'd spend days locked in his room, fighting the pain and racking his brain for a way to get more._

_Getting and taking it became the most important thing in his life and it worked for a long time._

_Mycroft was the first to figure it out._

_He never knew how but he suspected he was having him followed, even then._

_Other than loosing some weight and the occasional nosebleed, Sherlock didn't think there were any other outward signs… he maintained his grades and showed up for family functions._

_But one night, in a surprisingly posh part of town, he went to meet his dealer… and found his brother instead._

_Sherlock stood on the pavement, hands in pockets and eagerly scanning the street in anticipation. He'd been waiting for what seemed like hours and was getting restless but he'd wait forever, if need be._

_The sound of someone quietly clearing their throat had him turning quickly, in hopes that it was his dealer._

_But it was only Mycroft, standing a few steps away, silhouetted against the light of the street lamp and Sherlock's heart dropped into his stomach._

_They stared at each other for a few seconds and Sherlock couldn't decide if he should speak or run. But two large men stepped out of the shadows to flank Mycroft and he knew he wouldn't be given a choice._

"_Don't do this Mycroft," he spoke quietly as the men advanced._

"_I'm helping you," Mycroft responded sadly and Sherlock shook his head, taking a few steps back._

"_You think you are, but you're not. Please, don't do this!"_

_Mycroft stared at the ground for a long moment before turning his back. He held the car door open as the two men wrestled his brother into the backseat but Sherlock didn't make it easy on them. He fought and shouted, pushing outward frantically with his arms and legs and hoping they connected._

_Somewhere in the middle of it all his nose started to bleed. It startled him for a moment, the bright red of the blood smeared on his hands, and that was all they needed to get him in the car. _

_It was still bleeding when they arrived at Three Elms and Sherlock had, for the most part, given up on escaping. He barely flinched when Mycroft gripped his upper arm and led him up the path to the rehab. He moved stiffly and had no energy to struggle now. He knew there was no use anyway, not with Mycroft's men waiting by the car._

_He sat in the hard chair while Mycroft filled out all the forms and tried to stop his nosebleed with the tissue the woman at the desk had given him._

_He hated the piteous way she had smiled at him._

_The doors opened again and a girl, younger than himself, was dragged in. He watched in a haze and faintly registered Mycroft speaking to him before he was taken into another room. His brother followed but stopped in the doorway. He wasn't allowed any further._

"_Sherlock…"_

_He turned to his older brother, his expression blank. Mycroft opened his mouth to say goodbye but Sherlock got there first._

"_I'll never forgive you for this."_

Sherlock stopped in the middle of the hallway and rubbed at his forehead, a headache starting to form.

He never regretted saying it. It was true. And seeing the pained look on Mycroft's face had been oddly satisfying. A small win, at the time.

An older woman appeared, pushing a cart full of linens, and he stepped to the side so she could pass. The squeaking of its wheels didn't help his burgeoning headache but he was thankful for the temporary distraction as he began moving again.

There was nothing on Earth that could actually make him _want _to remember what came next… that first night had been the worst. The pain of those cravings, the insomnia, the sensation of tiny bugs crawling under his skin…

No.

He refused to remember and did what he should have from the start; forced it from his mind and mentally erected walls that, for the most part, managed to keep it hidden.

Sherlock sighed and hunched over slightly as he walked, eyes angled to the floor. He'd been gone far too long. Lestrade had to be finished now and was probably wondering where he was. He smiled somewhat at the ground. Sometimes he thought the DI only pretended to disapprove of his methods. In the past it had almost seemed like Lestrade had gone out of his way to see that Sherlock was left on his own, trusting that his unusual approach would yield better results.

If it was an act, it was a good one.

He walked around a corner, eyes still focused on the floor in front of him, and nearly collided with a man in black trainers. He mumbled something incoherent but not an apology and began to move around. Sherlock raised his eyes as he did and stopped mid-step, paralyzed with shock.

Directly in front of him was the equally surprised face of Brian Dannelly.

They both stared mutely for several seconds, recognition plain on their faces. The only thought Sherlock could manage was that he looked exactly the same as he remembered and not a hair different… the same handsome face with the same cold eyes.

Sherlock shook his head and finally woke from his stupor when the other man turned and sprinted in the opposite direction. He finally understood why this particular hospital had been chosen as his feet propelled him forward until he was running after Brian, mentally berating himself for taking so long to react.

Brian was at the end of the corridor when Sherlock gave chase, but he was taller and used to running and easily began to close the gap. He gave little heed to the people they passed as they jumped back, startled and confused as they scrambled to get out of the way.

The same cart with the squeaky wheels appeared out of a room on his right but he heard it coming a split second before and managed to half jump over, half go around it. The old woman pushing it squeaked in surprise, sounding very much like her cart, and Sherlock almost laughed.

It had barely slowed him down but when he looked up again Brian was at the end of the hall and disappeared to the right.

He knew at once where he was going.

Brian was doubling back to the front of the ward. The large glass doors Sherlock had convinced the nurse to open for him.

He pushed himself to move faster and turned down the same passage. Sure enough, he saw the glass doors at the end of the long corridor. He was almost there when Brian went through them and he heard them close, the definitive click of a lock sliding into place.

He managed to skid to a stop before crashing into them and shook the handles roughly but, again, they wouldn't move.

Sherlock looked up, face red and the hair at his brow matted to his forehead, to find a woman staring at him in astonishment from the previously unoccupied window on the other side.

"Open the doors!" he demanded loudly but she only stared, mouth gapping.

"Open them now or I swear I'll break them down!" he shouted and rattled the handles again for emphasis.

Her eyes widened and her hand disappeared behind the wall. Another faint click and Sherlock pulled them open. He ran a short way and stopped, turning in all directions as he looked for any sign of the man he was chasing.

There were none. He even looked at the floor for scuff marks but it was already so abraded there was no distinguishing one from the other.

He yelled in frustration and knew he was down to only one option now… he had to trust that Brian would head for the most familiar and convenient exit, which would be the main one where he had entered earlier that afternoon.

His eyes searched the walls frantically until he found what he was looking for.

A floor plan.

It was tacked to the wall a few meters from where he stood and he allowed himself a few seconds to examine it before breaking into a run again.

He forced himself to move as fast as he could, darting from one corridor to another, following the floor plan in his mind as though it were right in front of his eyes.

He spilled into the lobby from one side just as Brian barged in from the other.

Everyone's eyes turned to them in surprise, including John, Lestrade and Sally, but he paid them little heed as he collided with Brian, grabbing onto his shirt as they both hit the ground.

John exhaled heavily and turned his face towards the ceiling. "Oh dear God, it's finally happened… he's gone completely insane," he spoke quietly, to no one in particular, as Sherlock continued to wrestle with the strange man on the floor.

"Sherlock what the hell are you doing?" Lestrade almost shouted, his voice heavy with warning, and Sherlock stood, pulling Brian with him.

He had the shorter man's arms twisted painfully behind his back as he continued to struggle.

"_This _is Brian Dannelly." He looked at Lestrade and John as he spoke, grateful to see comprehension on their faces. At least he wouldn't have to explain.

"Who?" Sally asked but Sherlock rolled his eyes and ignored her.

"Brian Dannelly? This is Michael O'Brien. He works here…what is going on?" The hospital administrator looked hopelessly confused as his gaze traveled to each of them in turn but Brian chose that moment to find his voice.

"Get him off of me!" he shouted angrily and jerked from side to side in a futile attempt to shake Sherlock off. "I've got a restraining order against him, he's not allowed anywhere near me!"

Lestrade's eyes widened slightly and he looked past Brian, to Sherlock, for confirmation.

He shook his head in reply. "It was only valid for three years. It's well past that," he stated smugly.

"Why did he have a restraining order against you?" John asked in bewilderment but, other than an annoyed look from his friend, he was ignored.

"Could you do this somewhere more private please?" the administrator asked nervously and Sherlock looked around the room for the first time.

They had attracted quite a crowd of hospital staff, patients, and visiting family members.

"Where's your office?" Lestrade spoke quietly as he also noticed the growing crowd.

"This way, I'll show you." The hospital admin breathed a sigh of relief as the DI turned back to Sherlock.

"Let him go."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, looking very much like he wanted to argue, but he finally released his wrists. It didn't stop him twisting Brian's right arm meanly in the process though, making him gasp in pain before letting go.

Lestrade frowned at him as he gripped Brian by the shoulder but Sherlock only stared at him innocently, raising both of his arms as though to say, "what did I do?"

The admin led them to his office and left, for which he looked incredibly thankful.

"Have a seat," Lestrade nodded at the desk and Brian sat stiffly, his expression one of confusion and anger.

"What is this about?"

"How do you know Alexandra Claymore?"

"Who?"

"Alex Breckenridge," Sherlock supplied quietly and a flicker of understanding passed behind Brian's eyes.

"Is that what this is about?" he asked in annoyance. "She's just some girl I used to know. What's she done? I always knew she was trouble…"

Sherlock's hand clenched at his side involuntarily.

"She hasn't _done _anything," Lestrade answered. "This is about what's been done to her."

"Well whatever it is, I didn't do it," Brian stated quickly.

Sherlock stepped forward, sneering as Brian scooted back slightly. He still didn't believe the bastard was guilty of anything except, well, being a bastard. But he was curious…

"Then why did you run? Doesn't exactly project innocence."

"Cause who knows what this psychopath wanted!" he spat in exasperation, addressing Lestrade even though it was Sherlock who asked the question.

Lestrade exhaled in irritation and tried to press on. "Mr. O'Brien…"

"Why'd you change your name?" Sherlock interrupted, moving even closer to the desk and Brian regarded him warily.

"Had to, didn't I? After Dr. Madison fired me he called every hospital, every clinic, everyone he knew in the field. No one would hire me." He paused, lip curling bitterly. "That was her fault… and yours."

Lestrade's eyes volleyed between the two and he could practically feel the animosity coming off them in waves. He glanced at John, hoping he would be able to make sense of this, but the doctor only shrugged.

"Look, the fact of the matter is," Lestrade began tiredly, "there have been several attempts on Alexandra's life and you are a person of interest in the investigation. You're going to have to come down to Scotland Yard and answer some more questions."

Brian's mouth fell open in disbelief and he pushed away from the desk angrily.

"I'm a suspect?"

"That isn't what I…"

"That's ridiculous!" he shouted over the DI, eyes flashing as he continued hastily. "I haven't seen her in eight years, why the hell would I try to kill her? She was nothing to me, just some slut with a drug problem…"

Sherlock lashed out suddenly, his fist connecting with Brian's jaw and he dropped to the ground, stunned.

Sherlock stared down at him in astonishment, as though even he couldn't believe he'd just done that. It didn't take him long to recover though, and the shock on his face was replaced with hatred.

"I'm sure that's grounds enough for a new restraining order," he growled and turned on his heels, leaving Lestrade, John and Sally frozen in surprise as he slammed the door behind him.

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	17. Chapter 17

**Two new chapters in less than a week! I'm on a roll for once...**

**Thanks to Amelli-Kari, Lee, C'estMoiLiz, taytayfanatical, 88dragon06, winterchild890, Aimee, Noirreigne, Maybe Amanda, chironsgirl, , and JuubiOokami for reviewing! Reviews really motivate me to try and update faster so thanks!**

**Here's chapter 17!**

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It was freezing in 221b. So cold that Alexandra had on pajama bottoms under her jeans, the thickest socks she owned, two t-shirts, and a jumper. She'd even dragged John's duvet down the stairs to help keep her warm. There was no wood for a fire and after fiddling with the thermostat for almost an hour, she'd pronounced it dead. She had absolutely no idea where the furnace was, not that it mattered. What would she do… stare at it until it worked again?

She'd left a message for Mrs. Hudson but refused to call John or Sherlock. She was already trespassing on their home, she wasn't going to bother them with this.

She could handle it until someone came home… or until her fingers fell off…

Whichever came first.

Now she sat on the sofa, tucked into the corner and propped up against it's uncomfortable arm. She adjusted the blanket and turned a page in her book, only half reading the words. Sarah had left it for her to help pass the time but it wasn't working. If anything, time seemed to be slowing down.

Not the books fault though, it was fine, as far as that type of books goes. From what she could remember it was about a girl in the past. She was in trouble… possibly in Russia.

Alex groaned and tossed the book to the other end of the sofa. She burrowed deeper under the blanket until only her head was visible and slowly breathed in and out. She watched the air from her lungs form tiny little clouds and then disappear for what seemed like a long time.

She had no idea when she began to doze off, but when the door burst open with a loud bang she started and sat up, ramrod straight, her heart pounding in her chest.

Thankfully, it was only Sherlock.

He slammed the door to the flat before stopping in front of the sofa, red faced and furious. He took one look at Alex and stormed into his room.

She flinched as he slammed that door too.

Two simultaneous thoughts formed in her head, fighting for dominance: "Hope nothing horrible has happened" and "finally, something interesting."

Alex kneeled on the sofa and stared at Sherlock's door, half expecting him to come stomping out in a huff. The blanket tangled around her waist but it didn't matter; she'd already forgotten the cold.

She was just toying with the idea of knocking on his door when it all happened again.

This time it was John making a noisy entrance and this time she nearly fell off the sofa.

"Where is he?" John asked with angry frustration as he stopped in front of Alex, in exactly the same spot as Sherlock a few minutes before. He didn't wait for her to answer and hurried to the door to Sherlock's room, rapping sharply with his knuckles.

"Sherlock, Lestrade is furious!"

Yup, definitely interesting.

"What's going on?" she asked eagerly but John acted as though he hadn't heard her.

"You should have seen the mess you caused!" he shouted through the wood. "He wouldn't stop going on about how his rights had been violated… he's threatening to sue all of Scotland Yard!"

Sherlock opened the door just long enough to growl, "it's a good thing I'm not a police officer then!" before slamming it in John's face.

"What's happened?" Alex repeated louder and John swung around, still worked up.

"Sherlock thought it'd be a good idea to assault a suspect… and why in the bloody hell is it so cold in here!" John wrapped his arms across his chest and marched the short distance to the thermostat.

"I don't know. It's been like this all day. Now what's this about Sherlock assaulting someone?"

John glanced over his shoulder as he punched numbers into the small device. He had started to calm down and now looked wary, as though he wasn't certain he should have said anything. He stepped away from the thermostat, eyeing Sherlock's closed door hesitantly, and Alex heard a familiar groan in the wall that could only be the heat kicking on. That was weird… she was fairly certain the display wasn't even working earlier…

"How'd you do that?"

"Just had to reset it." John walked over to the couch and flopped down on the other side. He made a face and pulled Alex's book from underneath him, glancing at it briefly before tossing it to the floor.

"Did he tell you where we were going today?" he asked.

"Just something about following a lead to a hospital."

"Right… turns out your old _friend _Brian was there. He works there."

Alex's eyes widened as she put two and two together. "Sherlock hit him? Why?"

He glanced uncomfortably at Sherlock's door again. "Well… he said some… rude things."

John knew the moment she understood and watched as a flurry of emotions flitted across her face. Pleasure, annoyance, arrogance, anger, and sadness all came and went as she tried to understand how it made her feel. Finally, she settled on confusion.

"So it's him then right? I mean it has to be him, why would he be there?" She paused in thought. "But Sherlock said it couldn't be him. That he truly didn't believe it was Brian."

"I still don't."

Sherlock appeared in his doorway again, this time with an armful of papers and glossy photographs. He walked calmly to the far wall but Alexandra could see the tension in his shoulders and new he was still angry.

She watched in silence as he began pinning the papers and photos to the wall in some order that clearly made since to him. Even from where she stood she could see they were photos of the arsons.

"What's he doing?" she asked John quietly but Sherlock spoke, his attention still focused on the wall.

"It's high time I got this over with," he stated matter-of-factly.

She turned to John in confusion but he only looked at her grimly. They watched him work for a few minutes, alternating between staring intently at something he'd already pinned and adding more to his strange collage. He was trying to ignore it, but she could see how he almost winced every time he gripped something too tightly with his right hand.

With a slight shake of her head she glanced at John again and went into the kitchen, not surprised when he followed her.

She searched through cabinets while John leaned against the wall, eyeing her curiously. Alex spoke quietly and with a forced calmness as she started opening drawers.

"So this is something he normally does?"

John sniffed and looked around in confusion, momentarily distracted, before answering.

"Yes."

"But he hadn't done it yet? Not for this…" Alex found what she was looking for crammed under the sink and eyed its questionable contents. After a moments thought she dumped them into the bin and rinsed it out before moving to the refrigerator.

"No," John answered hesitantly.

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know…"

Alex laughed slightly and closed the freezer. "You know him better than anyone John… what do you think?"

He sighed and stepped closer to her. "I don't think he was giving your case his full attention."

"Why?"

"You know why…"

"Tell me…" She turned around and sat a large bowl on the table.

"Because I think he knew, maybe only subconsciously…" he paused, struggling to find the right words. "that when it was solved you'd…"

"That I'd leave."

John nodded.

"But now he's putting things on the wall, so…"

"Yeah."

Alex rubbed her eyes tiredly. She felt torn, split into two sides. One was thrilled at the idea that he'd get to the bottom of things and she could leave… her life could go back to normal. The other was sad and a little terrified that her life would go back to normal. How could she go back to the way things were, now that she'd met him again?

"It's probably for the best," she whispered and John looked at her questioningly.

"Nothing," she smiled at him somberly as she walked past him to where Sherlock was still staring at the information on the wall. She stepped up next to him and looked at what he'd assembled.

There were many photos of fire ravaged buildings and she easily picked out the flat she'd shared with Thom. But most of the photos showed blackened bodies from every possible angle and she felt her stomach clench in protest. She brushed over them as quickly as she could. Next to them was the photo of her asleep in the hospital. It's edges were charred and she absently wondered if Lestrade knew he had the original.

The words so meticulously burned into the walls fascinated her. Shame and truth… She moved closer to the photographs, reaching out to trace the letters with her finger. What did they mean?

She could feel Sherlock's eyes on her back as she skimmed over the papers but she didn't care. A few of them had the Smythe logo and she examined them curiously. She already knew most of what she read but some if it was completely foreign to her… strings of numbers and letters that she couldn't make sense of.

She inhaled quickly when her eyes rested on the list she'd made yesterday, surprised to find it included with the rest. She hadn't even known he'd taken it.

Alex stepped back until she was level with Sherlock again and tried to imagine what he saw when he looked at everything together…

"Is it enough?" she asked quietly.

"It's here somewhere, waiting to be found."

She glanced up at him, surprised at the reverence in his voice. She hoped he was right.

With one last glance at the wall she turned and gripped his left arm tentatively, just above the wrist. He jumped and looked down at where she touched him, startled by the sudden contact.

She tugged on his arm. "Come with me."

The expression on his face was priceless and she couldn't stop herself from smiling. He was looking at her like she'd just sprung a second head, with a little curiosity and fear mixed in.

"What do you want?" he asked cautiously and she responded by tugging on his arm with more force.

But he wasn't moving.

"Come on Sherlock, just humor me, please…"

His expression didn't change but when she pulled again he reluctantly let her lead him into the kitchen.

John was seated at the table with his arms crossed casually over his chest, a slight smile playing over his face. He'd already figured out what she was doing and would have suggested the same.

Alex let go of Sherlock and pulled out the chair across from John.

"Sit."

He opened his mouth to speak but surprised them both when he closed it again and sat in the chair without protest.

Alex smiled and walked around so she was on his right side. His eyes followed her warily and he flinched when she touched his right hand.

"Sorry, sorry…" she apologized quickly and lifted his arm as carefully as she could, positioning it so his hand rested, palm up, in the bowl she'd laid out a few minutes before.

A hiss escaped through his teeth and he tried to pull away but she stopped him with a hand on his forearm.

"It's cold!" he whined.

"It's supposed to be… it's ice," she responded sarcastically. "It's swelling Sherlock, this will help," she continued more gently and added more ice to the bowl, effectively covering his hand. She didn't ask how he'd hurt it and she could tell he was relieved, but she couldn't leave it at that. She'd never been smart when it came to him.

Alex moved closer until her legs touched the back of his chair and placed her hand on his shoulder. She squeezed slightly and leaned towards him, only half conscious of the way he tensed under her hand,

"Thank you," she breathed and loosened her grip as Sherlock slouched in the chair, staring with determination at a fixed point above John's head.

Frowning, she removed her hand and stepped back, catching John's eye in the process. He looked uncomfortable, almost like he'd caught them in some compromising position instead of a simple touch, and her frowned deepened. She knew she hadn't done anything wrong (how was thanking him wrong?) but her face flushed with embarrassment and anger anyway. She opened her mouth with every intention of snapping at John, but she never got the chance.

The door to the flat swung open again and they all jumped, jerking their heads in its direction.

"Where are you?"

It was only Lestrade and Alex exhaled in relief, despite the anger in his voice. No one answered him but he stomped heavily towards the kitchen anyway, stopping just inside.

"What the hell were you thinking!" Lestrade spoke directly to Sherlock, ignoring the others. "I don't care what you do on your own, when you're with me you're an extension of Scotland Yard and you damn well better act like it!"

Sherlock arched an eyebrow at the Detective Inspector but didn't stop him from continuing.

"Or I won't bring you in anymore!"

His other eyebrow shot up skeptically and Lestrade faltered, loosing momentum all at once and leaning against the wall.

"Better?" Sherlock asked with condescension and the other man huffed in annoyance.

"Yes, thank you," he spat sarcastically and shuffled his feet. He took a deep breath to gather himself and pulled a face, looking behind him in confusion. Shaking his head absently, he turned back around, decidedly more calm.

"Is he pressing charges?" John asked simply.

"He wants to, we're trying to talk him out of it," he sighed and stepped away from the wall. "Alright let's go."

"Go where?" Alex asked in confusion and Lestrade looked at her for the first time.

"Just Sherlock," he answered quickly and his gaze returned to the detective. "We've got Mr. Dannelly… or O'Brien, whichever you like… in custody. I want you there when I interrogate him."

"Do you think that's wise?" John asked quietly.

"Obviously not in the same room, but he can watch." Sherlock sat up straighter as he continued. "You knew him. You could give insight, tell if he's lying…"

"I knew him better…" Alex said meekly and his gaze shifted between she and Sherlock.

"She's right," he confirmed unenthusiastically and Lestrade shrugged.

"Fine she can come too… now is anyone going to tell me what that smell is?"

Alex's eyes widened and she inhaled sharply, coughing as she breathed in the faint odor of rotten eggs.

"Hydrogen sulfide," Sherlock answered nonchalantly. "Small amounts have been filtering through the heating vents since it started working again." They looked at him in horror and he continued in what he thought was a reassuring tone. "Don't worry, we have at least seventeen minutes before the enzymes in our bodies become incapable of detoxifying it."

They stared at him in stunned silence for several seconds before practically running for the door.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood calmly, retrieving his coat from his room before following them at a leisurely pace. As he closed the door he shook his head in mild annoyance and muttered under his breath…

"So dramatic…"

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	18. Chapter 18

**Here's the next chapter!**

**Thanks to itsbeautiful9, Amelli-Kari, purpleflames, Lee, Aimee, C'estMoiLiz, Noirreigne, XMillieX, Palmeres, LolaWants, and 88dragon06 for reviewing! **

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For the second time that day, Sherlock Holmes had managed to go from slightly amused to furious in a matter of minutes.

It wasn't because someone had broken into the empty flat next door.

It wasn't because this person had forced their way into the wall and then into 221's central heating.

And it certainly wasn't because said person had placed a container of hydrogen sulfide, no bigger than a tin of beans and with a complicated time release, inside and then somehow wired it to the thermostat.

No, Sherlock found all of those things fascinating.

He was furious for one reason and one reason alone…

He absolutely hated hotels.

They were too clean, too unfamiliar, and the mattresses… well they were never what he liked.

It didn't help that Alexandra seemed thrilled at the thought of escaping 221b, even if it was only for a few days. It irritated him more than he'd care to admit.

When Lestrade had informed him that his flat was now technically a crime scene, Sherlock had argued that only the flat next door and the heating vents had fallen victim to any crime. And they didn't live in either of them.

But Lestrade had laughed and informed him that even if they didn't need to bring in the forensics team (just the thought of Anderson poking through his things made him livid), there was no way fire services would let anyone stay there until an inspector told them it was safe.

On the way to Scotland Yard John suggested, half-heartedly, that they stay with him at Sarah's, but Sherlock had cringed and easily dismissed the idea. A few moments later he received a call from his brother, offering them the use of his home. Sherlock didn't bother to wonder how Mycroft already knew and simply said "no" before hanging up.

He wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

So a hotel it was.

He let John make the arrangements, specifying only that it be simple, and gave the doctor a withering look when he innocently asked if they'd need one room or two.

John wrote the name of the hotel and the reservation number on a slip of paper and gave it to Sherlock as he and Alex exited the taxi in front of the police station. He had opted out of joining them, saying he'd taken a shift at the clinic and insisting Sarah would be angry if he missed another. But as the taxi sped away with his friend inside, Sherlock was curious as to why he'd just been lied to.

Now he found himself in the same dimly lit room he'd watched Lestrade interrogate Sam Spade/Tim Cox from. The only difference was, instead of John, Alex was at his side.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye as Donovan escorted a handcuffed Brian (with a dark purple bruise spreading across his jaw that made Sherlock smile) into the room and her gaze darted to her feet, to the corner, to the ceiling, then behind her, and back to her feet again. Everywhere but at Brian Dannelly in the next room.

"He can't see you, it's one way glass."

Her head turned towards him sharply, like she'd forgotten he was there.

"I know that," she snapped. "I just… I don't know, it feels strange."

"Why should it be strange?" he asked curiously.

"Because the last time I saw him, apart from for a second at that club, was eight years ago and you were there, the police were there… it was complete chaos. It's like déjà vu."

Sherlock remained silent for a moment, watching as Lestrade made Brian state his name (both old and new) before the real questions began.

"It's actually not at all like déjà vu," he disagreed brusquely.

"Why not?"

She watched as Sherlock's expression grew slightly bored and he set his shoulders in a familiar way. Alex realized he was about to launch into a long, condescending lecture and she fought the urge to tune him out. After all, it was her fault… she'd asked.

A tiny smile curved her mouth. That was familiar too.

"There are many theories but modern science doesn't have an adequate explanation for déjà vu. It does, however, imply unexpected recognition in which the person involved cannot identify an antecedent for the events that seem so familiar." He paused and gestured at the window. "You know why this feels familiar. That's just called memory."

She blinked at him slowly and tilted her head to the side. "That wasn't long at all…"

He tore his attention from the one way glass and glanced at her oddly. Only then did she realize she'd spoken out loud.

They faced forward again, listening as Lestrade grilled Brian about his relationship with Alex. It wasn't anything new to either of them and Sherlock spoke again, slowly this time and with a spiteful undertone.

"There is one thing very different about this though…" He kept his gaze focused on the glass but waited for her to look at him before continuing. "Last time, I was the one in handcuffs."

Alex's mouth parted slightly as she stared at him, unsure of how to respond. She knew he was trying to make her feel guilty and it was working… Sighing, she cradled her arms against her stomach.

"What do you want me to say Sherlock? If I thought you'd actually accept it I'd have apologized a long time ago, but it's a little late for that, don't you…"

"Shush…" He stepped closer to the glass as he dismissed her, eyes focused on the scene before him.

Lestrade had finally gotten around to alibis.

"Does that even matter?" Alex spoke again, more to irritate him for shushing her than anything else. "I mean, if he were here when the gas started…"

"That could have been set up ages ago. Use your brain," he answered quickly and Alex glared at him in annoyance.

She couldn't tell if he was trying to make her angry or just being himself.

"But you don't think he's behind any of it."

"How many more times are you going to say that? Just because I think it doesn't automatically make it so. Now be quiet," he snapped and Alex bristled with anger but remained silent.

He claimed he was at work during the first fire and out of the country for the next. Both easy to check and Sherlock nodded. It was as he expected.

He was ready to believe Brian was at lunch with his girlfriend when the third fire had taken place, but then he did something so subtle Sherlock wasn't even sure he'd seen it.

He stepped closer to the glass, just short of touching it, and stared intently at Brian's face…

There! He hadn't been mistaken!

For the most part he'd retained steady, though not completely consistent, eye contact with Lestrade. Not too unusual. But now, for a split second between answers, his eyes shifted up and to the left.

Sherlock couldn't believe it. He was actually lying.

"He's lying," Alex spoke from Sherlock's right and his eyes flicked to her briefly.

"How do you know?" he prompted, interested to see if she'd noticed the same.

"Because you went all rigid and held your breath."

Sherlock froze in surprise and turned his head just enough to see her face. "You aren't supposed to be looking at me, you should be watching him," he said quietly.

"Why? I got the same results," she smiled.

"By cheating," he scolded her, but it was softened by the amused quirk of his lip.

Alex shrugged and turned back to the window. "If you say so… What did he do to make you think he's lying?"

"When asked a direct question he looked to the upper left corner of the room before answering."

"So?"

"Neuro linguistic programming suggests that eye movement can be an indicator of specific cognitive processes," Sherlock spoke quickly. "It's generally split into six different directions. Down and to the left would imply you're recalling a sensory impression. Down and to the right indicates internal dialog. Looking left suggests you're trying to imagine a sound and looking right indicates you're remembering a sound." He paused as Lestrade stood and left the room, leaving Sally with Brian. Sherlock turned away from the window and gave Alex his full attention before continuing. "We look up and to the right when we're visually remembering something we've seen. But Brian was looking up and to the left…" he trailed off and could almost see the metaphoric gears turning in her head as she began to see where he was going.

"So…" she began slowly… "he was trying to… come up with something? Like on the spot?"

"Basically," he answered impassively but she could tell he was pleased and felt her skin begin to warm. "He was visually constructing an alibi."

"Is that always accurate? The eye thing?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. There are always other factors to consider, but I do think it's reliable here…" he frowned and she could see that something was still bothering him.

"But?"

The door opened before he could answer and they both turned to see the DI enter the small room.

"He's lying," Sherlock spoke before the other man had a chance to say anything.

"I know," Lestrade agreed.

"But only about his last alibi," Sherlock continued. "I don't think that means he was responsible for planting the bomb or setting the abandoned home on fire. He's either not sure where he was that day and didn't think it would behoove him to admit it or…"

"Or he was doing something else that he didn't want the police to know about," Lestrade finished and Sherlock nodded his consent.

"So what now then?" Alex asked and glanced at Brian, still seated in the other room.

"Well, we can hold him while we check his story but if we don't find anything I'll have to let him go." Lestrade reached behind him and opened the door. "Give us a moment to move him before you leave. I don't want him to see either of you. I trust you've made arrangements to stay somewhere?"

Sherlock barely nodded, just the tiniest jerk of his head, and his expression turned sour. He'd almost forgotten the hotel.

"Alright. Carrow will meet you out front. He's to stay with you Sherlock, I mean it. No going off on your own now." Lestrade waited for some sort of acknowledgment from Sherlock. He seemed satisfied after a moment and left the room but Alex didn't know what he'd seen… Sherlock hadn't moved.

The door shut with a soft thud and she walked over to the glass again, watching as Brian was made to stand.

"Why that hospital then? Why the hospital _he_ worked at?" she asked quietly and felt, more than saw, Sherlock stand next to her.

"Whomever it is chose that hospital to flaunt what he knows."

"What does he know?"

"I'd say just about everything about you," he admitted seriously but it couldn't mask the intrigue she heard in his voice. "And," he continued, "I'm starting to think he knows quite a lot about myself as well."

Sherlock turned on his heels and headed for the door, giving her no choice but to wonder what he'd meant as she followed.

They stepped into the hallway and Alex blinked at the sudden brightness, doing her best to keep up.

"Where did John make reservations?" she asked his back and watched his hand disappear into his pocket.

Sherlock pulled out the scrap of paper John had given him, examining it briefly before handing it back to Alex. He recognized the hotel. It was relatively nearby and would be a small fare. He knew it would cost him nothing if they rode with Officer Carrow, but he'd rather snog Sergeant Donovan than ride in the back of a police car. And that was saying something.

Alex was still reading the small paper when Sherlock stopped suddenly, feet planted firmly in the middle of the hallway.

"I don't know it, is it close? Oooff…" She bounced off the hard planes of his back and almost fell. "Sherlock? What the hell, why'd you stop?"

"Turn around."

"What?"

Turn. Around."

He spun around quickly and grabbed her shoulders, physically making her turn.

"Oh that is fucking priceless!"

They both froze when they heard the voice. The same voice Lestrade had been questioning. The same voice that wasn't supposed to know they were there.

Alex couldn't help herself. Despite the steady pressure of Sherlock's hands on her shoulders, pushing her, pleading with her, to start moving…

She had to look.

He was at the other end of the wide hallway, where it spilled into the lobby, wearing an ugly expression that contorted his usually handsome face.

"The slut and the freak, still together!" Brian shouted again.

Alex felt Sherlock's fingers dig into her shoulders painfully before he let go and turned to face him as well.

People were staring at them now. Some had stopped on their way down the hall. Others had come from the lobby, drawn by Brian's booming voice.

Donovan stood next to him with her hand on his arm. She appeared completely stunned and, Sherlock was appeased to see, slightly horrified. At least she wasn't encouraging him.

As soon as he caught her eye she seemed to snap out of it and tightened her grip on Brian's arm, yanking him backwards. But it didn't stop him from shouting again as he struggled with Sally.

"You know I didn't do anything! What did you tell them you stupid bitch!"

Something brushed past Alex but she barely registered it in her shocked daze. To her, it seemed as though Lestrade had appeared out of nowhere.

"Sally, get him out of here!"

With the help of another officer, Sergeant Donovan managed to force Brian out of the hallway.

"Alright, go on! Haven't you got work to do?" Lestrade scowled at the gathered crowd, waiting for them to disperse before quietly addressing Sherlock and Alex.

"Not making a good case for himself is he?"

Sherlock frowned at the detective and placed his left hand flat against Alex's back, pushing her towards the main entrance. Her eyes were wide and she was shaking slightly, a tremor in her shoulders that radiated through his hand.

"Sherlock…"

He shook his head at Lestrade and kept moving. The DI sighed and gestured at Carrow to follow them before heading back to his office.

When Sherlock ushered her into the back seat of the taxi, Alex was still shaking and she couldn't figure out why.

Was it fear or anger? Or something else entirely? She'd reacted the same way when she saw him a few weeks ago… suddenly paralyzed and numb, with no other desire but to hide.

She vaguely heard Sherlock speak to the cabbie as she slid all the way across the seat, pressing herself against the door and resting her forehead on the cold glass.

The drive to the hotel was short and uneventful. She barely remembered walking through the lobby or riding the lift. All she knew was Sherlock had pressed a key card into her hand, Carrow was following them, and the music playing in the lift was god-awful.

They exited the lift on the eighth floor and Alex followed Sherlock down the long hallway. The wallpaper was beige with an intricate chartreuse pattern that mesmerized her and she couldn't look away. She followed the loops, dips and turns in the pattern all the way to the end of the hall, stopping only when Sherlock did.

She tore her eyes from the wall covering and found she was standing in front of a door. It's number matched the one on the card in her hand and she looked to her left as Sherlock entered the next room, not bothering to acknowledge her.

She glanced at Carrow, briefly wondering if he also had a room or would be standing in the hallway all night, before opening the heavy door.

It swung shut without any help and she flipped on the light, nearly crying out in fright.

There was a man sitting in the room's only chair.

She flattened her back against the door and took several seconds to consider her options before her eyes focused and she recognized the man in front of her… Mycroft Holmes.

"Forgive me, I seem to have the wrong room," he smiled and left the armchair. "It was a fifty-fifty chance I suppose."

Alex stepped away from the door so he could open it, her heart still pounding in her chest, and followed him into the corridor. She watched, dumbfounded, as Mycroft trod swiftly to the next room, knocked, waited for the door to open, and disappeared inside.

She stood in the hallway for a moment, sharing a confused and startled look with Carrow and then returning to the room.

What did Mycroft want now? Did Sherlock text him when she wasn't paying attention? And how the hell did he get into her room without a key?

Alex shook her head as her eyes swept over the small room. She was too preoccupied to really take in her surroundings… bed, armchair, desk, en-suite, everything you'd expect… but wait… what was that?

She did a double take and saw a door set into the left wall.

The rooms were connected.

Alex hurried to the door but hesitated with her hand hovering over the knob. As quietly as she could, she tried turning it but with no luck. It was locked.

In a last ditch effort, she pressed her ear against the door, listening for anything from the next room. Again, no luck, and she sighed as she turned away.

Who ever heard of thick walls in a hotel?

Her curiosity at Mycroft's sudden appearance had pushed all thoughts of Brian from her mind and she was grateful for that at least.

As she moved to the bed she wiped a few drops of sweat from her brow and suddenly remembered she was still wearing all the layers of clothing she'd put on when the heat stopped working.

Now she was burning up.

She quickly shucked her jumper and one of the t-shirts, all but one pair of socks and her jeans. Alex was left in only her pajama bottoms and a thin cotton shirt, and she was instantly cooler. She flopped on the bed and rolled onto her side, deep in thought as she stared at the locked door.

From what she remembered, unexpected appearances from Mycroft were never good, especially in Sherlock's mind. Though she did think they seemed on better terms now than they were then. Well they could speak to each other without Sherlock storming off, at any rate. It was definitely an improvement. She'd always thought they were more alike than they were different, not that she'd ever admit that to Sherlock. He hadn't even bothered to tell her he had a brother until Mycroft was right in front of them…

_Doctor Madison made everyone attend, or else they wouldn't be there. Why should they? Neither ever had any visitors._

_So instead they got to sit on a sofa and watch everyone else hug and kiss and laugh with their family and friends. _

_Alexandra could never figure out if Madison thought he was being kind or was deliberately being cruel._

_It never seemed to bother Sherlock though, and today was no different._

_Alex sat cross-legged on the sofa, pretending to read when she was really watching Sherlock. He sat next to her with his legs stretched out in front of him, slouched down until his head rested against the back of the sofa, his eyes closed._

_She had no doubt he knew what she was doing (there was no getting anything past Sherlock) but she didn't care._

_She never got tired of looking at him._

_Alex brushed a stray hair off her face and flinched slightly. The bruise was fading but still noticeable if you knew what to look for. She'd told Doctor Madison and anyone who'd asked that she'd fallen._

_Sherlock had never asked._

_She dropped the book in her lap and stretched, finally tearing her eyes from the man next to her. It was busy today, a lot of new faces she hadn't seen as well as the ones she saw every week._

_After a few minutes of people watching she grew bored (someone crying was the most interesting thing that ever happened and there wasn't a tear in sight) and picked her book up again, determined to actually read it this time._

_She made if five pages before she was staring at Sherlock again._

_Alex gave up on pretenses and sat her book on the table. She turned so her back was leaning against the armrest and she could watch him without craning her neck._

_If anyone had asked she'd never have been able to tell them what she found so fascinating. He was all angles and cheekbones but if you looked hard enough there was something so… so…. beautiful. Alex nodded to herself. That was definitely it. Sherlock was strangely beautiful._

"_Hello Sherlock."_

_Alex jumped and Sherlock's eyes flew open. Standing on the other side of the small coffee table was a tall man in what she imagined was a very expensive suit. She didn't recognize him but Sherlock clearly did._

"_What are you doing here?"_

_The nicely dressed man tsked and sat across from them. "That's hardly an appropriate way to greet someone Sherlock."_

_Sherlock scowled but didn't respond, choosing instead to sink farther into the sofa._

_Her gaze traveled between them curiously before settling on the stranger._

"_Who are you?"_

"_My brother," Sherlock admitted bitterly._

"_You have a brother?"_

"_Unfortunately."_

_The man frowned for a moment before turning his attention to Alex. He forced a smile to his face and extended his hand across the table. "Mycroft."_

_Her eyes widened as she reached out to shake his hand and she couldn't help herself._

"_You're joking…"_

"_Beg your pardon?"_

_Alex released his hand and looked at Sherlock. "Seriously, what is with your parents and names?"_

_Sherlock smiled slightly but kept his eyes on his brother who was beginning to look uncomfortable._

"_What's your name then?" Mycroft asked testily._

"_Alex."_

"_It's nice to meet you Alex."_

"_Um… you too, I guess…" she spoke with uncertainty and glanced at Sherlock._

"_What are you doing here?" he repeated through clenched teeth._

"_I'm here to visit you of course," he said with some surprise. "I thought that would be obvious."_

_Sherlock's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "After almost five weeks?"_

"_Well I am busy Sherlock…" Mycroft did his best to look embarrassed but it didn't fool his younger brother._

_They were silent for a long time and Alex shifted uncomfortably. She wondered if perhaps she should leave and give them some privacy but she couldn't make herself move._

_Just when she was beginning to think they'd sit there all night, starring daggers at each other, Mycroft sighed and leaned forward._

"_Fine." He reached under his jacket and pulled out an envelope. He tossed it onto the table in front of his brother and Sherlock's eyes flicked to it curiously._

"_I was hoping you would take a look at that."_

_Alex watched Sherlock carefully but he didn't say anything and her impatience got the better of her._

"_What is it?" she asked Mycroft._

"_Its… classified."_

_Her eyes widened and she glanced at Sherlock again. She could tell that, despite his best efforts, he was having difficulty hiding his interest._

_Sherlock's hand twitched and he almost reached for the envelope but crossed his arms instead._

"_What did you tell them?" he asked so quietly that Alex wasn't entirely sure he'd spoken until Mycroft sighed and answered._

"_I told them nothing. They think you're out of the country, working for me."_

_Sherlock's eyes flashed angrily and he sat up straighter._

"_You didn't seriously expect me to tell them the truth?" Mycroft continued. "It would kill them Sherlock… is that what you want? His expression remained calm but his voice was laced with resentment. "Are you not satisfied with only hurting yourself? Would you hurt them too?"_

_Sherlock flinched and Alex placed her hand on his shoulder while she glared at Mycroft. Almost as soon as she touched him, he shook her off and she knew she'd broken one of his unspoken rules… you didn't show Sherlock affection in public._

_He stood up quickly, not looking at either of them, and hurried from the room. Alex stared after him sadly, unsure if it was her touch or his brother that had made him flee. Or perhaps both._

"_Who are you?"_

_She turned back to his brother angrily. "I already told you my name."_

"_That isn't what I meant and you know it."_

_She stared at him for a moment, not sure how to answer. She spent almost all her free time with him… she cared about him… she slept with him…_

"_I'm his friend."_

"_Sherlock doesn't have friends."_

"_Apparently he does," she spat defensively._

_Mycroft stood abruptly and looked down at her. "You'd be wise to stay away from my brother. I assure you, it's in your best interest as well as his." He paused and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small white card. "And if you need more… incentive… I'm sure something can be arranged."_

_He held the card out to her and she didn't know what else to do but take it, her mouth open in shock. Alex turned it over in her hands, its only content a phone number in black print. When she looked up again, he was gone._

Alex's belly rumbled and she glanced at the clock next to the bed. It was already early evening and had been hours since she'd eaten anything more substantial than a biscuit. Her stomach had been so neglected it felt ready to riot and she crawled off the bed, walking the short distance to the door that connected her room with Sherlock's.

She didn't know for certain who was paying the bill here, but Alex seriously doubted it was Scotland Yard. And she certainly wasn't going to order room service with Sherlock's money without his permission.

She knocked twice and waited but there was no sign of movement on the other side. She hadn't spoken to him since their confrontation with Brian at the police station but felt sure that if he'd gone somewhere he would have told her. Or at least have Carrow tell her. She knocked louder but still received no response and decided he'd either gone out (despite what Lestrade had said), or was ignoring her. But as soon as she turned away the door opened and she swung around, only to be met with Sherlock's retreating back. He left the door open, however, and she knew that was all the invitation she'd get.

Crossing the threshold cautiously, her eyes darted over the room but there was no sign of the eldest Holmes.

"What did Mycroft want?"

Sherlock ignored her, his eyes on his phone as he paced the length of the small room that was the twin of hers. She didn't know why she'd expected him to answer and tried a different approach.

"Are you hungry?"

"Hmmm?"

"Food Sherlock…"

He looked up at her then, slightly startled as though he hadn't realized she was there.

"What?" Once over his surprise, he buried his nose in the mobile again before answering. "No, nothing for me."

"Can I…?"

"Yes, yes, get what you want." He waved his hand in the air like she was a fly that was irritating him and she went back to her room to order dinner.

Alex called the kitchen three times. The first to order her own food, but immediately after hanging up she thought she should get something for Sherlock, just in case, and called again. But she'd forgotten about Officer Carrow and assumed he'd be hungry too, so she called again. Surely Sherlock wouldn't mind paying for his dinner as well?

By the time she was finished, the originally kind woman on the other end of the phone wasn't even trying to hide her annoyance.

She picked up her discarded clothes from earlier, folded them, and sat cross-legged on the bed while she waited. Alex had left the door open between rooms and every so often she'd catch a glimpse of Sherlock as he marched past it, deep in thought.

It was comforting to see him there, even fleetingly, and she soon made a game of it, trying to guess how long it would take him to pass the door again.

She was so absorbed in her diversion that she jumped when a loud knock issued from her door and a man's voice on the other side called out, "room service."

Alex answered it quickly and waited for Carrow to inspect the porter and his cart before it was wheeled inside. The young man regarded her with fascination, clearly assuming she must be someone important to merit an armed guard. His eyes lost some of their admiration though, when she smiled apologetically and admitted she had no money to tip him.

Carrow seemed both surprised and delighted that she'd thought of him and accepted the food with thanks. Alex took the rest of it to Sherlock's room, setting his on the desk and sinking into the armchair to eat her own.

As she nibbled on the chips she watched him wander about the room, alternating between mumbling to himself and typing briskly in his phone. She wanted to let him know she'd gotten him something to eat but didn't dare interrupt him. He'd find it eventually.

When she was finished she yawned and cleared her things away with every intention of going back to her room and turning in early. But she only made it halfway when Sherlock made a loud clicking noise with his tongue and she turned around.

"Well?" he asked and she looked confused. "I asked you a question."

"You did?"

He nodded at her slowly like he thought she was dense and she moved back into his room.

"I thought you were talking to yourself. What was the question?"

"Why do you think John lied about working today?"

Alex stared at him in bewilderment. That wasn't what she'd been expecting.

"I hadn't realized he was lying," she answered truthfully and dropped into the chair again. "Wait… is that what you've been doing all night? Trying to figure out where John is?"

"Well he definitely wasn't working, I checked," he said defensively. "So why did he lie and where was he?"

She was suddenly very tired and pulled her legs beneath her, shifting until she was curled into a comfortable ball in the chair.

"I don't know… maybe he wanted some alone time with Sarah."

"What for?"

She lifted her head from where it was cradled against her arm and stared at him pointedly.

"Oh… right," Sherlock blushed almost imperceptibly and looked away. "But why would he lie about that? He's never had a problem informing me he'd be seeing Sarah or that he'd be spending the night."

"I don't know… maybe," she stopped and closed her eyes as a powerful yawn overcame her, "sorry… maybe he thought you'd be angry."

Sherlock looked genuinely surprised by what she'd said. "Why on earth would I be angry? John's free to do what he likes."

"Sure he is," she mumbled sarcastically. "Then maybe he just didn't want to tell you he needed a break…"

"What do you mean?"

"Come on Sherlock, we both know how demanding you can be. That's bound to wear on anyone."

The room was silent and Alex's eyes flew open as she realized what she'd said. "I didn't mean it like that Sherlock, really. I'm just tired, not thinking straight," she spoke in a rush and began to untangle herself from the chair. "I should go to bed."

"Wait."

She froze with one foot on the ground, the other still beneath her. He stared at her thoughtfully for a long time before speaking again.

"This is probably very 'demanding' of me," he smiled slightly, "but would you stay awhile longer so I've someone to talk to? You don't even have to listen," he added hopefully.

"Um… alright, I guess." She couldn't hide her astonishment at his request but curled into the chair again as he began to talk about John and anything else that seemed to come to his mind.

At first she spoke back, answering his questions and asking her own, but as the evening wore on her part in the conversation grew shorter. Soon she could only muster a tired "yes," or "you're right," or "I guess."

When she finally fell asleep it was with his rich, deep voice in her head and a contented smile on her face.

And when she woke the next day she was in bed in her own room, with no memory of how she got there.

* * *

**So I'm a little worried that Sherlock is teetering on the edge of "in character"... And then I think that with this type of story it's almost inevitable that he will eventually act out of character... I don't know. What do you think?**


	19. Chapter 19

**I assume that most of you who read this are writers too so let me ask a general question... Are you ever 100% happy with a chapter before you upload it? I never am. At most I'm 75% content when I upload. Well they say we're our own worst critics. I just hope you enjoy it!**

**Thanks to itsbeautiful9, purpleflames, coconuts-are-funny-27, coconut-dreamer, ToryTigress92, XMillieX, Aimee, Palmeres, laced-with-fire, 88dragon06, chironsgirl, The DoctorsMistress, Bookwormiie, Noirreigne, and LolaWants.**

**And now Chapter 19!**

* * *

The room's en-suite was quite possibly the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. To the casual eye it was just a bathroom like any other, but after weeks of living with two men it felt like heaven to Alex.

It was clean, which was already a big improvement. It seemed no matter how often she tried to tidy up Sherlock's bathroom, it was in a constant state of disorganized grime.

And then, of course, there were the experiments. Last week she'd walked into the bathroom with every intention of showering, only to find the tub filled with ice and what looked suspiciously like human flesh peeking through. She hadn't stuck around long enough to find out.

And the water pressure in the hotel was amazing! It made the water at Baker Street feel like nothing more than a drizzle. She hadn't had cause to stay in many different hotels before, but she was fairly certain the water pressure was supposed to be notoriously lousy. Add that to the thick walls and that brought Alex's list of unusual things about the hotel to two.

These mundane thoughts were all she allowed herself as she stood under the hot spray. She had to, it was the only way to keep herself from going insane. When she let the other thoughts in they filled her with a fear and worry that was paralyzing and would let her think of nothing else.

So, when she was alone and no one could remind her, she forced them away. There were no fires, no fading scars, no murders, no police investigation, no Brian, and above all else, no Sherlock…

She knew she'd fallen asleep in his room last night though. Alex was sure she would have remembered walking to her bed. After all, her days of blacking out were long behind her. So Sherlock had to have put her there… He would have had to pick her up… carry her… his hands on her…

Alex shivered despite the hot water beating over her shoulders and leaned her forehead against the shower wall.

And there it was, everything she tried so hard not to think about rushing back in, as quick and blistering as the water.

And Sherlock was the catalyst.

With a sigh she reached for the hotel shampoo and quickly washed her hair. There was no point in dragging the shower out any longer; she wasn't enjoying it anymore and her skin had already started to wrinkle in that annoying way that could only be caused be staying in the water too long.

Alex finished and dried herself quickly, momentarily distracted by the softness of the towels, before pulling on her jumper and jeans from the day before.

She'd been lucky to be wearing so many clothes when they were forced to leave the flat yesterday. Well maybe "lucky" wasn't the best word, given the circumstances, but at least she had something to wear. Lestrade wouldn't let them back in to collect anything but John kept clothes at Sarah's so he would be fine for awhile. Sherlock on the other hand…

And there it was again. It seemed that lately her thoughts always returned to him, no matter how hard she tried not to let them.

Alex shook her hair free of the towel and left the steamy bathroom, muttering his name under her breath in annoyance.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock…"

"Yes?"

Alex jumped and spun towards the sound of his voice. "Jesus, Sherlock!"

He sat in the armchair his brother had startled her from the night before, and behind him she could see the door connecting their rooms was open… She'd definitely locked her side before getting in the shower.

"You should wear a bell or something," she mumbled.

He arched an eyebrow but didn't speak as he followed her progression across the room.

"How did you get in here anyway?" She sat on the bed with her legs dangling over the edge and watched as his left eyebrow joined the right. "Fine, stupid question. You could have waited though."

"I knocked," he stated as though he thought that were explanation enough.

"Okay, but you still should have waited."

"I knocked and called your name several times but you didn't answer…"

"Right, because I was in the shower…"

"Seeing as how someone's trying to kill you," he continued quickly, their words overlapping, "and you made no response, I thought it unwise to wait for your permission."

Alex stared at him sheepishly for a moment. She couldn't argue with that. If she were being murdered in a locked room she hoped Sherlock and his lock picking tools were nearby… but… A stray thought wandered into her head and she smiled slightly.

"But I was in the shower… what if I hadn't dressed in there? I could have walked out here completely starkers."

Sherlock looked genuinely taken aback, his mouth forming a small "o" of surprise as though the thought hadn't occurred to him.

"I… Well I knew… I don't…" he stammered and her smile widened.

She'd forgotten how adorable he could be when he was uncomfortable.

After several seconds, Alexandra took pity on him and changed the subject.

"What did you want?"

"Lestrade called. He's asked us to come back to Scotland Yard."

She stilled, tugging her lower lip between her teeth, and he could read her easily.

"He's not there, they released him this morning," he added quietly.

Alex didn't know whether she was relieved or more worried. On one hand, she wouldn't bump into him at the police station. On the other, she could bump into him everywhere else. And now he was out there, old memories rehashed, and hating her anew.

"So I guess everything he said checked out?" Sherlock nodded and she continued. "Were you wrong about him lying?"

For a split second, Alex saw a flash of irritation on his face at being doubted, but it was quickly replaced with his usual blank expression.

"No he was definitely lying. Lestrade went through his credit card records. He checked into a hotel at the time of the last arson. When confronted Brian admitted he was there with a young woman who was not his partner of the past five years… Reprehensible perhaps, but hardly criminal."

Alex wasn't surprised in the least. She actually felt sorry for his girlfriend, for both women really.

Sherlock stood suddenly and Alex copied him.

"Lestrade's expecting us."

She slipped on her shoes and followed him into the next room. As he put on his coat her eyes flicked to the desk. The food she'd gotten for him was still there, untouched. When she turned back he was knotting his scarf and watching her quietly.

"You don't have a coat."

"That's incredibly astute of you."

Sherlock frowned at her sarcasm and continued. "It's very cold."

She could see the struggle in his eyes and posture as he warred with himself over whether or not to offer her his coat. Something inside her fluttered and warmed at the idea, surprised he was even considering it, but she pushed those feelings away. They wouldn't do either of them any good.

"I'm fine Sherlock. I'm not going to be outside that much anyway and this," she tugged at her jumper, "is actually really warm."

He seemed relieved she'd taken the decision away from him and turned abruptly, trusting she would follow.

It was definitely colder outside than she remembered and her damp hair wasn't helping. When they arrived at New Scotland Yard Alex hugged her arms to her chest and hurried into the building. They were led to a part of the station she'd never seen and ushered into Lestrade's office with little fanfare. There was some staring from those who, Alex assumed, were present yesterday and witnessed Brian's tirade, but she did her best to ignore them.

Lestrade hung up the phone as they entered, coming around the front of his desk to lean against it.

"You said you'd found something else in the vent," Sherlock spoke frankly and she turned her head towards him. He hadn't mentioned an object when he said the DI wanted to see them. "If you'd have let me examine the vent in the first place you could have saved me a trip."

"It was _your_ flat Sherlock. There's a reason why surgeons aren't allowed to operate on family members."

"That's hardly the same thing," Sherlock argued

Lestrade shook his head and stepped forward, dropping a small item into Sherlock's open hand. "We found that near the container. Could be nothing but it didn't seem like a natural place to find it… Don't worry," he added quickly, "it's been dusted but there was nothing, not even a partial."

He turned it over in his hands and Alex leaned in for a better look. It was small, only about four centimeters long and one and half wide, and beveled to look like a wing. She'd seen something like it before and when she glanced up at Sherlock he looked, for one startled second, like he recognized it too. When she blinked, however, any sign that he found it familiar was gone, but she was certain she hadn't imagined it.

"I've seen that before, I know I have," she spoke to Lestrade quickly.

"Where?"

At this she seemed more uncertain and stared at the small wing again, screwing up her face in determination. But when she looked at Lestrade again she only appeared confused and apologetic.

"I don't know where, only that it's familiar… Not 'important' familiar, just that I've seen it. But for all I know that was in a shop."

"You wouldn't have seen it in a shop unless it was before you were born," Sherlock spoke condescendingly. "It's at the very least thirty-seven years old, but I'd say even older than that. It's practically an antique."

"If all it takes to be an antique is thirty-seven years, I'm one," Lestrade quipped lightly and Sherlock stopped examining the wing to stare at him instead.

"You're being very kind to yourself," he smirked. "And I said 'at least thirty-seven but I'd say more.' This is closer to seventy years old."

Lestrade shifted his weight against the desk in annoyance. "I'll have you know my wife says I look very young… but," he continued before Sherlock could question his wife's eyesight, "forget I said anything and just explain."

"This is pewter but it has lead in in. No one uses lead to make pewter anymore for health reasons."

"How do you know it has lead in it?" Alex asked.

Sherlock balanced the piece of pewter in his hand. "It's heavier and a darker gray. Pewter without lead is lighter in both weight and color. Eventually the lead in this will turn it black."

He let Alex take it from his palm and weigh it in her own hand as he continued. "British Standard 5140, set in 1974, said that all pewter had to be ninety-two percent tin, eight percent antimony and copper. Lead was removed from the process."

"So that's why its at least thirty-seven years old?" Lestrade asked and Sherlock nodded.

"But it's a very dark gray. It's clearly had a long time to oxidize, so around seventy years old."

"Anything else?"

Sherlock took the piece from Alex and ran his finger along the edge.

"It was a clean break but this side isn't rounded like the rest. It was attached to something. A figurine of an angel perhaps, about so big." He spread his thumb and pointer finger to demonstrate its size. "And it wasn't made by casting. If you look closely there is a thin layer around the wing that wasn't properly cut. That only happens with a stamping press. Very popular in the forties."

Lestrade nodded quickly. "Yes but do you have any idea where it came from?"

"Not a clue," Sherlock admitted easily. "It was made with a stamping press which means there were probably thousands produced and distributed with no way to differentiate between them. Doesn't exactly narrow it down."

"What do you think it was doing there?" Lestrade asked. "It seemed so deliberately placed, I was certain it was meant for one of you. But if neither of you recognizes it…" He trailed off and stared at the pair expectantly.

"Like I said, I've seen it but I'm not sure where," Alex answered, cradling her arms against her stomach. "And it doesn't feel important, like I should know it. I'm sorry."

Alex looked at Sherlock, curious to see how he'd answer, but he simply shook his head and she frowned. She'd seen the brief flicker of surprise on his face when he'd first looked at it and didn't understand why he was keeping quiet.

"Alright then," Lestrade sighed. "You should be able to get back into your flat tomorrow. Call me if you think of anything else."

He sat behind his desk again, busying himself with paperwork and Alex knew they'd been dismissed.

They walked side by side down the short hallway and were almost to the lobby when Sherlock stopped.

"What is it?" Alex stopped too and scanned the corridor nervously. She didn't want a repeat of yesterday.

He opened his hand to reveal the small piece of pewter. "Lestrade will be wanting this," he spoke quietly. "Don't want him to think I've stolen it."

Alex stared at him dubiously. "I doubt that's bothered you before."

Sherlock smiled, a quick baring of teeth, and turned, moving swiftly in the other direction.

"I'll just be a moment."

"Wait, I'll go with you." She hurried to catch up but he stopped and faced her.

He stared at her for a moment, annoyance playing over his face, and she opened her mouth to ask why he was acting so strangely but never got the chance.

"Coffee!"

She started at his sudden outburst. "What?"

Sherlock smiled again. Wider, brighter and so completely fake. Alex had never once seen him smile that way but, she supposed, if you didn't know him it might seem charming.

"Coffee," he repeated. "I'd love a cup and it would help you stay warm. There's a self serve in the lobby, near the loo. Do you mind?"

Alex stared at him oddly for several seconds but she couldn't figure him out. All she knew was he clearly didn't want her following him to Lestrade's office, if that's even where he was going.

"Fine I'll get you some coffee," she spoke finally, "but please don't ever smile at me like that again. It's creepy."

His grin disappeared almost instantly and he rolled his eyes as he turned.

She watched his retreating back for a moment before calling out in irritation.

"I don't remember how you take it."

"Black," he supplied without looking and disappeared around the corner.

The coffee was where he said it would be and Alex quickly filled two Styrofoam cups. She ignored the curious looks from some of the employees and walked to Lestrade's office slowly, careful to keep the black liquid from sloshing over the slides. She hadn't seen any lids and really didn't want to ask anyone where they might be. She doubted that most of them even knew who she was but they'd only ever seen her with Sherlock and he didn't seem very popular at Scotland Yard. Only Lestrade was friendly with him. Everyone else ignored him. Except for that Sergeant… What was her name? Donaldson? Davison? She couldn't remember, but whoever she was, she seemed to enjoy being unpleasant to Sherlock.

Alex took a sip of the bitter liquid and winced. It tasted slightly burnt, like it's been sitting on the warmer too long. But Sherlock was right; it did warm her up and she took another sip. Now that she knew what to expect it wasn't so bad.

She stopped outside Lestrade's office, the glass that served at walls allowing her to see inside easily.

Both Sherlock and the DI were standing with grave expressions, deep in conversation. Sherlock was doing most of the talking, gesturing emphatically with the pewter wing still clutched in his right hand. Alex stepped closer to the glass curiously and some of the coffee from Sherlock's cup spilled onto her hand. She flinched at the slight pain but ignored it, eyes narrowing as she tried to read their lips.

Every so often Lestrade would speak only to have Sherlock cut him off with a shake of his head. The DI looked away in annoyance and his eyes widened as he caught her watching them. His lips moved again and Sherlock's head turned sharply, locking eyes with Alex through the glass.

She was startled by the angry intensity in his eyes and couldn't stop herself from taking several steps backward. He didn't take his eyes off her as his mouth moved, forming words she couldn't make out. He thrust the wing at Lestrade, barely waiting for him to take it before stalking towards her.

The sound of the office door opening was enough to wake her from her stupor and she blinked to find him standing in front of her. He stared down at her haughtily, as though daring her to speak, but all she could manage to do was awkwardly hold out his coffee.

His gaze fell to the cup and his expression softened slightly. He took it with out a word and headed towards the exit. Alex watched him out of the corner of her eye as he took a sip and made a face. The cup was unceremoniously thrown into the next bin they passed and she didn't know why that simple act made her so mad.

"What were you telling him?" she asked finally, her anger giving her courage.

"Hmmm?"

Alexandra exhaled heavily. "Don't try to play dumb Sherlock, you could never pull it off."

The corners of his mouth turned up and it only annoyed her more.

"Are you going to tell me or not?"

"Not."

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. "You know I didn't mean it like that," she muttered.

Sherlock opened the door and Alex was met with a cold gust of air as she followed him outside. It had started to snow. Not a lot but enough to blanket the ground in a thin layer of white powder. She saw Carrow and smiled at him as he dropped his fag, putting it out with the toe of his boot.

"Are you coming?"

Alex looked up to see Sherlock in the street, the door of a taxi open next to him as he waited impatiently. She nodded at Officer Carrow and hurried into the warm car. Sherlock slid in after her, shutting the door as he barked orders to the driver and the taxi edged out into traffic.

She turned to him immediately. "You saw something when you looked at that. You recognized it."

"So did you," he said absently. "You said so yourself."

"But you've seen that piece specifically, it meant something to you. What was it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he spoke quietly as he looked out the window.

"You're lying."

He turned to her then, a sneer firmly in place. "Am I?"

"You know you are. What were you telling Detective-Inspector Lestrade? What do you know Sherlock?"

"I know what you know."

Alex shouted in frustration and twisted away. She saw the cabbie watching them through the mirror and scowled.

"Oi, is this any of your business? No! Eyes on the road!" she snapped.

They sat in silence as the taxi crept along, fighting its way through the traffic. She forced her breathing to slow… forced herself to calm down before speaking again, eyes trained on her hands in her lap.

"I just wonder some times…"

"About what?" he prompted, head titled towards the glass.

"If you're actually… if you're really trying to solve this or if you're drawing it out," she answered so quietly he almost didn't hear her. Almost.

"And why would I do that?" he asked seriously even though he already knew her answer.

Alex wrung her hands anxiously, tilting her head so he wouldn't see the faint blush spreading over her cheeks.

"Because… because…"

"Say it!" he growled and finally looked at her.

"Because I won't be around when this is all over."

Sherlock laughed suddenly, a short cruel bray that made her jump, and shook his head in disbelief.

"You think very highly of yourself."

His words made her flinch and she blushed harder. "If I'm wrong, then tell me I'm wrong."

"You're wrong," he spoke quickly and turned towards the window, only to turn back a moment later, eyes filled with scorn. "Let me make one thing abundantly clear… Our past is just that… past. This is my work…"

Alex looked away, not wanting him to see how his words hurt her, but he scooted closer and grabbed her wrist, squeezing it roughly.

"Look at me!" He waited for her to comply, completely registering the way her eyes glistened, before continuing.

"This will _never_ be anything more than a job to me… I don't want you here… Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," she whispered.

Sherlock let go of her wrist and caught the cabbie watching them in the mirror again.

"Do you mind!" he hissed but the man wouldn't look away.

"I'm sorry sir, its only, we're here is all…"

Sherlock glanced out the window, surprised to see the car had stopped.

"Right." He pulled a few bills from his pocket and tossed them in the front seat before climbing out.

He left the door open and Alex stared after him, too numb to move.

"It'll be alright miss. You're better off without him if you ask me."

Alex tried to smile but only managed a grimace as she slid across the seat.

"You're probably right."

She stepped out into the freezing air, across the street from the hotel. She could see Sherlock already on the other side as she began picking her way through the traffic. He was hunched over against the wind, eyes focused on the ground.

He never had a chance.

Alex saw them before anyone, a flutter of motion darting towards Sherlock's back, and she hurried to get across the street. Halfway there she realized she wasn't going to make it in time and screamed as loud as she could…

"Sherlock!"

He spun towards the sound of her voice but not quickly enough, and he couldn't stop the man's fist from colliding with his face.

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**What did you think? **

**There's some good stuff coming up, including the flashback that explains everything (finally)!**

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	20. Chapter 20

**Here's Chapter 20! I hope everyone enjoys it because I really loved writing this one!**

**Thanks to purpleflames, itsbeautiful9, C'estMoiLiz, Bookwormiie, Sally, LolaWants, 88dragon06, laced-with-fire, JuubiOokami, XMillieX, Aimee, celtic goddess of fertility, and coconuts-are-funny-27! you guys are awesome!**

* * *

If there had only been one he was certain he could have handled it. He was also sure that, had there been two, the odds of him getting the upper hand would have been respectable, if not assured. But there were three men and Sherlock knew the law of probability was against him.

Alexandra's voice was still ringing in his ears when the first man hit him square in the face and he was flung backwards. Instinct took over and he was able to block the first assailants next punch but a second man appeared behind him, grabbing Sherlock by the arms to keep him still for the first man.

His head twisted sharply and his vision blurred as he was struck repeatedly in the jaw, but the pain only served to spur him on. Sherlock leaned back into the second man's chest, using him for leverage, and he kicked out with his right leg as hard as he could. He was rewarded with a satisfying crunching sound as his foot connected with the man's kneecap but frowned when he only hobbled backwards instead of hitting the ground as Sherlock had hoped.

Taking advantage of his attackers momentary distraction, Sherlock jerked out of the second man's grasp and swung around, his hand balling into a fist as it cracked against the man's nose. His hand came back wet with the second man's blood and he couldn't help but smile in satisfaction.

But it was short lived.

A third man, who'd been biding his time until then, came up behind Sherlock and kicked the back of his knee with such force that his leg crumpled beneath him, making him fall to the ground. When he tried to get up he felt a sharp pain in his side and turned to see the first man's boot swing out again, connecting with his stomach and knocking all the air from his lungs. The other two seemed to get the same idea and Sherlock could do nothing but curl onto his side, trying to make their target as small as possible.

He could see Alex running towards them through the flurry of feet and tried to call out, to tell her to stay away, but he felt one of the men strike his ribs and could only gasp in pain.

He could hear her shouting but his head was throbbing, ears filled with the loud rush of adrenaline, and he couldn't make out what she was saying.

Sherlock knew she had to have done something though, because for a few seconds he could feel the frequency of kicks decrease by one.

But then he blinked and he could see her clearly through one of the man's legs, the side of her face pressed into the snow as she stared at him with wide, fearful eyes.

He had done his best to protect his head, shielding it with his arms and forcing most of their blows to his legs and torso, but at the sight of her on the pavement he was filled with a newfound anger and grabbed the shoe nearest him. He twisted it meanly and heard the ankle snap before pushing it away from him. The owner of the shoe shrieked in agony and stumbled backwards, tripping over Alex to sprawl on his back in the street.

There was no time to savory that minor victory.

Now that he wasn't covering his head, the third man lashed out again, but this time the toe of his shoe truck the back of Sherlock's head.

His vision went white and everything was silent for a moment as he lay still, too stunned to move. When his vision cleared and sound came rushing back everything was too bright… too loud, and he winced in pain when he heard a familiar voice shout "police!"

One more kick to his abdomen (he almost didn't notice, the ache in his skull was so unbearable) and then there were hands on the lapels of his coat and a stale breath on his face.

"Maybe next time you'll be more careful about who's father you help put in prison," the third man whispered harshly and released Sherlock's coat.

Bile rose in the back of his throat as his head smacked against the pavement but he forced it down as best he could.

He'd be damned if he couldn't at least control that.

Sherlock turned his head and rested his cheek against the snow, the cold offering some relief. He could see the three men hurrying away, the one who's ankle he'd broken supported between the other two.

"Where were you!"

Sherlock jerked his head sharply towards the sound of Alex's angry voice and he instantly wished he hadn't. The pounding in his head grew worse and his vision swam, but he forced himself to sit up so he could see her. She was standing with matted snow on her jeans and had a small cut on her cheek, he assumed from one of the men knocking her down. And she was currently glowering at Officer Carrow.

"I was stuck in traffic," he admitted in embarrassment. "I'm going to call for backup and go after them." He reached for his radio.

"Leave it," Sherlock croaked and cleared his throat.

"But…"

Sherlock shook his head and grimaced as a shooting pain pulsated through his skull. "I said leave it."

Alex mumbled something to Carrow before kneeling in front of Sherlock, the snow crunching quietly under her legs. "How bad is it?"

He closed his eyes and thought for a moment, mentally taking stock of his injuries even in his daze: multiple lacerations on face - possible broken nose. Severe bruising on torso - possible internal bleeding and broken ribs. Head trauma - possible concussion or fractured skull leading to confusion, vertigo, nausea…

Sherlock opened his eyes when he felt a hand on his shoulder and tried to focus on Alex's face.

"Sherlock I asked you a question." She squeezed his shoulder gently and repeated it. "How bad are you hurt?"

He blinked and leaned forward slightly as his eyes finally focused, not on Alex, but on the cut on her cheek.

"You're bleeding…"

She frowned and rocked back on her heels in worry. He sounded wrong… different, like something was missing. The something that made him Sherlock. That scared her more than any amount of blood ever could.

"Yeah, well so are you," she sighed and stood up, turning to Carrow. "Call an ambulance."

Her words made something click in Sherlock's brain and he grabbed her hand, pulling himself up shakily. He swayed slightly and Alex put a hand on his arm to steady him.

"I really don't think you should be moving. Just wait for the ambulance."

"That won't be necessary."

Alex regarded him skeptically as he closed his eyes and leaned into her hand.

"Sherlock…"

"I said no…"

That sounded more like the Sherlock she knew. She stared at him for a moment, mouth set in a thin line, before nodding.

"Fine." Alex raised her voice so Carrow could hear her but didn't take her eyes off Sherlock. "You heard him, no ambulance… come on then." She tried to tighten her grip on his arm but he shook her off, marching unsteadily through the small crowd and into the hotel lobby, Alex and Carrow close on his heels should he stumble.

As soon as the lift doors closed and they were free from prying eyes, he slumped against the side of the lift, breathing heavily.

Alex shared a look with Carrow and moved closer to Sherlock. "Let me help you."

"I'm fine," he spoke quietly and managed to right himself as the lift came to a halt at the eighth floor.

They followed him down the corridor and Alex's eyes wandered over the patterned wallpaper again. Yesterday she'd thought it was beautiful… now it just seemed gaudy.

Sherlock pulled the room key from his pocket and winced when his arm brushed against his side.

Without a word to the others, he opened the door and entered the room stiffly. He tried to shut the door before Alex could follow him but she slammed her palm flat against the wood and he stopped just short of crushing her arm.

"Go away," he mumbled through clenched teeth and she almost rolled her eyes.

"Like that's going to happen." She brushed past him quickly and he made no move to stop her.

When he shut the door and turned around she was right there, pulling him to the center of the room and working his long coat off his shoulders. His scarf had come unknotted during the fight and she tugged that off with the coat. She stuck her hand in each pocket, ignoring the odd look from Sherlock, before tossing it over the chair.

Before he could ask what she was doing she was in front of him again, trying to slip her hand underneath his suit jacket.

Her audacity surprised him but he reached up quickly, slapping her hand away.

"What on earth are you doing?" he asked incredulously.

"Where is it?"

"Where is what?"

Alexandra moved closer, so close he could only see the top of her head, and grabbed his right wrist. He seemed too dazed to remember he had another hand he could use to stop her and just stared with wide eyes as her right hand disappeared beneath his jacket.

His breath caught in his throat as her fingers grazed the thin fabric of his button-up shirt but she was too absorbed in her search to notice.

She found what she was looking for in a matter of seconds and stepped back, his mobile clutched in her hand.

"If you won't go to the hospital I'm calling John."

He didn't even argue, just stared at her for a moment before shrugging out of his suit jacket and walking to the bed.

Alex picked his discarded jacket off the floor and threw it on top of his coat and scarf. She regarded him warily while she did, unwilling to believe he wasn't going to put up a fight.

"That's it?" she asked. "You're not going to tell me not too?"

Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and sighed. "Would you listen if I did?"

"Well… no."

He laid back on the bed with his feet still on the floor and closed his eyes. "Then why should I waste my time?"

A small smile crept over her face as she moved to the en-suite. "Smart man," she muttered to herself and looked up the doctor's number in Sherlock's phone.

He could hear her rummaging through cabinets from where he lay on the bed and couldn't help but listen to her side of the call.

"No it's Alex," she began in a hurry, her voice slightly higher than normal. "Sherlock's hurt…" She paused and Sherlock knew John was speaking. "I don't know. Some men outside the hotel… I haven't asked yet," she sighed and waited for John to finish. "I don't know if it's bad, I'm not a doctor! That's why I'm calling you… He won't go to the hospital!" she almost shouted and Sherlock winced at the sound. "Well you can tell him that cause I'm not," she added unenthusiastically and turned on the faucet.

The sound of the water rushing into the sink muffled Alex's voice and Sherlock sighed in discomfort. Without the distraction he couldn't ignore the pain coursing through his body. It was a dull ache in some areas but excruciating in others, mainly his head and lower torso. He pressed his fingers to the side of his stomach and inhaled sharply. He knew without looking that the skin there would be discolored, the beginning of a nasty bruise. The question was, how far did it go? Intra-abdominal bleeding usually only presented with pain (and he was certainly feeling pain). But if the bleeding was severe there could be weakness, lightheadedness, shortness of breath, shock, decreased…

The water stopped and his thoughts skipped over one another, jumbling together in his head until he couldn't remember what he'd been thinking about. That definitely wasn't a good sign.

"Room 836... Just hurry John." Alex tossed Sherlock's phone on the bed as she reentered the room with several towels and a few damp wash cloths draped over her arm. She'd washed the small amount of blood from her cheek but left it uncovered.

"Sorry but they don't have much in the way of first aid," she apologized and dropped the towels on the bed next to him. "I guess they don't expect their guests to get attacked outside," she tried to joke but quickly turned serious. "What was that Sherlock?"

He sighed and finally opened his eyes. "_That_ was the very angry son of the man I proved guilty of murder on my last case."

"The ears?"

Sherlock nodded as best he could in his position. "The ears."

"What about the other two?"

"His mates."

"Okay…" Alex picked up one of the wash cloths and regarded him for a moment. He hadn't moved, still on his back with his arms at his sides and his eyes on the ceiling. There wasn't as much blood as she'd remembered and she knew her mind most have over exaggerated in her panic. There was still quite a lot though, too much to accurately tell just how badly his face was cut up and bruised. For the first time she noticed that some blood had splattered onto his shirt, near the collar, and she briefly considered calling John again and asking him to bring another shirt, before dismissing the idea completely. She doubted Sherlock would care about a few red splotches.

And then there was his midsection, where he'd taken most of the beating…

Alex was starting to think it might be better to wait for John. She really didn't know what she was doing and hospital dramas could only get you so far… But on the other hand, the longer they waited the harder it would be to clean the blood from his face. They'd probably have to scrub to get it off once it dried and that wouldn't be pleasant, not for anyone. Sherlock would surely see to that.

"Right," she spoke with determination, having made her decision. "Can you sit up?"

He took a deep breath and did as she asked, grunting slightly as his muscles constricted in protest. Her eyes fell to his waist, very concerned with the way his arm cradled his side.

"Here." Alex put the damp cloth in Sherlock's hand so he could start on the blood and fisted both her own into the sides of his shirt.

The rag remained limp in his grip and he could only watch, frozen in place, as she carefully but efficiently untucked his shirt. It wasn't until she began pulling it up, tilting her head to get a better look, that he shook himself from his trance and pushed her hands away. The shirt dropped back into place, but not quickly enough to hide the multitude of bruises that graced his right side and Alexandra inhaled sharply.

They were still so fresh they hadn't completely darkened yet, still a deep jaundice yellow on its way to purple. It stood out terribly against his pale skin.

There eyes met and she held his gaze for a moment, trying and failing to think of anything appropriate to say. Instead she grabbed the washcloth from Sherlock and focused on the task at hand.

She placed her left hand at his temple and tilted his head back, unconsciously moving closer so that he had to part his legs to make room for her. With her right hand she wiped gently with the cloth, removing the blood from his jaw, nose, cheek, and forehead.

Her soft touch was a welcome relief from the pain. It was soothing and comforting… everything he never needed. Her thumb traced circles at his hairline while she worked and he let his eyes close. He couldn't help it… it felt good.

When she was finished the white cloth was tinged brownish-red and she could see where his skin was torn. For the most part they were only scrapes, but there was a nasty looking gash on his cheek that worried her. John would be able to tell if he needed stitches.

Alex let the cloth fall to the carpet. She had every intention of withdrawing but when she absently brushed Sherlock's hair back, away from his face, he sighed and leaned forward and something in the pit of her stomach tightened.

She scooted closer, until her legs brushed his thighs, and slid her hand into his hair. He made the most beautiful noise, a combination of a quiet moan and a contented sigh that made her pulse quicken.

Outwardly she was calm and quiet, her right hand raking through his hair again and again while her thumb continued its slow rotation at his left temple.

But inside she was screaming.

She wanted to shout "ha!", to call him a liar and make him admit he was wrong.

But she knew he never would, even with his body betraying him.

Still her pride seemed to have a mind of its own and she couldn't stop the question from slipping through her lips…

"I thought you didn't want me here?"

Sherlock tensed under her hands.

"I don't," he answered roughly and she could tell that he meant it.

But then he confused her again when he leaned in farther, resting his forehead against her stomach with a shuddering breath.

She gasped softly and her hand tightened in his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

Sherlock's eyes flew open and he stood up so suddenly she had to step back, hands falling to his shoulders as he stumbled slightly. His pupils were large and black, almost filling the iris, and she wondered if it was because of her or the attack.

Alex reached up cautiously and trailed a finger down his unscathed cheek in quiet contemplation. His eyes fluttered closed again briefly. When they reopened they were wider, startled and more aware than they'd been since…

"Stop," he demanded with a quiet intensity that made her shiver, and caught her hand in his own, pulling it away from his cheek.

"I can't stand being this close to you," she began softly after a few seconds, her voice surprised as though she'd only just figured it out, "and not being allowed to touch you… Why is that?"

He wanted to tell her that it's only because their bodies are familiar with each other. That sometimes, especially during periods of great stress, they can act independently from the brain. Seeking a comfort that doesn't like being denied.

He wanted to explain the biology behind it…

But then she was kissing him, standing on her tiptoes with her left hand flat against his chest and her right still grasped loosely in his, and he couldn't quite remember the point he was going to make.

* * *

**What did you think? Please review!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Here's chapter 21! **

**I apologize if anyone thinks this is too graphic to be rated T. I personally don't think so but I'm used to writing M rated stories so this is actually me restraining myself. And there's some language in this one too.**

**Special thanks to purpleflames, Lee, 88dragon06, TheDoctorsMistress, itsbeautiful9, C'estMoiLiz, laced-with-fire, Noirreigne, coconuts-are-funny-27, Aimee, XMillieX, LolaWants, Bookwormiie, -the-lovecat-, and -sev.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

She didn't know how or why (and to be honest she didn't care), but it was like being transported in time…

One kiss from Sherlock Holmes and Alexandra was eighteen again. She was that girl, that stupid selfish girl. That addict.

And she loved it.

It was a heady thing, feeling that way again. She could easily get used to it.

Addicted to it.

Everything was so much simpler then. Strange, considering she had felt like a prisoner most of the time. Not to mention the mind-numbing agony of being forced into detox. And then, of course, there was Brian and Sherlock and everything that came after…

Okay, not so pleasant, she admitted. But it was still less complicated than this - standing in an unfamiliar hotel room, snogging a man she hadn't seen in eight years and hadn't left on the best of terms. Or any terms really. The same man who was supposed to be figuring out who was trying to kill her. A man who'd just taken a beating outside and was probably too hurt for her to be squeezing like she was…

Oh.

Alex opened her eyes and relaxed her grip on Sherlock's shoulder as she pulled her head back. He looked winded and pained but when she released him and tried to move away his eyes snapped open. For a split second they were filled with an anger that truly terrified her and his grip tightened on her hand, jerking her towards him harshly.

Alex stumbled forward and he met her with his lips, mouth insistent against her own, almost violent in the way it moved and pushed and tugged. She gave into it easily but couldn't help feeling like he was trying to punish her somehow. That it was a con and any second he was going to pull away and laugh. Some sort of twisted revenge.

She wouldn't blame him if he did. She deserved worse.

Alex moved closer, letting her hands rest against the sides of his legs, and kissed him hard.

Whatever his reasons, it didn't mean she wasn't going to enjoy it while it lasted.

His fingers dug into her waist, just enough to hurt, and she gasped against his mouth. He used the distraction to deepen the kiss and thrust his tongue between her lips, all the while tightening his grip on her waist.

Everywhere he touched burned and Alex felt like she was melting. There was no other word for it. His hands and lips, so hot and so hard on her, were turning her to liquid.

Her knees threatened to buckle when he pressed himself flush against her and she could no longer hold her ground. She could feel him, hard against the softness of her belly, and moaned into his mouth as she stumbled backwards. Sherlock moved with her, pushing so forcefully she was surprised when she didn't fall. Her hands slid over the back of his head, seeking purchase to keep her upright, but he winced when they passed over the large knot and she pulled them away. She tried to cup his face instead but he hissed into her mouth and her hands fell to her side as they continued to shuffle backwards.

How could she have forgotten again?

Alex knew she should pull away and make him stop before she hurt him more than he already was.

But god help her, she didn't want him to stop.

Her arms slipped around his waist, clutching tightly, and he immediately tensed. His lips stilled as a shudder ran through his body and Alex knew they'd gone too far. The pain had finally managed to overcome whatever had possessed him and she tore her mouth from his.

"Sherlock…"

They reached the end of the room and her back slammed against the wall. She couldn't finish her thought as all the air was driven from her lungs and the only word that could escape was a quiet "fuck!" as her eyes closed. When she opened them again he was still pressed against her, watching her curiously through heavily lidded eyes, and she had to try three times before finally finding her voice.

"We have to stop," she whispered. "It's not right. _You're_ not right and we're only going to make it worse. I don't want to hurt you…"

The implied "again" hovered heavily between them and Sherlock dropped his gaze to where his right hand still gripped her waist.

"What if I want you to hurt me?" he asked quietly.

Alex sighed and let her head rest against the wall.

"Your confused and disoriented from everything that's happened. You don't mean that."

"I don't?" He let go of her waist and ran his hand up her side.

"No." Alex shivered as he grazed the side of her breast and she swore she could feel the heat from his hand even through the thick material of her jumper.

He paused and glanced up at her, his expression aroused and hateful at the same time.

"You don't know me as well as you think." It wasn't said in anger. She couldn't hear any bitterness behind it, despite the look on his face. He simply spoke as though stating a fact, but it bothered her all the same.

He locked eyes with her and removed his hand from her side, circling it around her forearm instead.

"What are you doing?"

She felt his hand tighten around her arm and his whole body tensed, like he was bracing himself. By the time Alex realized what he meant to do, there was no stopping it.

Almost too quickly for her to follow, Sherlock pulled her arm around his side, crushing it against the bruised flesh with such force that he convulsed and collapsed against her.

She was too shocked to move at first and let him press her into the wall. His head rested against her shoulder and she could feel his ragged breath against her neck.

Her pulse raced as each puff of air caressed her skin and she found herself struggling to control her own breathing.

She knew it wasn't pain that made him cling to her and press his face into the soft skin between her neck and shoulder. As much as it had to have hurt, he'd liked it, and she realized quite suddenly that he was right.

She didn't know him now. Maybe she never had.

"Sherlock…" she began shakily but faltered when she felt his tongue dart out and taste her where the sweater gapped. He tugged on the stiff fabric until it stretched as far off her shoulder as it could and he was left with a long unbroken line of bare skin.

Her head tilted to the side of its own accord and her eyes closed as he moved upwards slowly, not really kissing, but dragging his mouth over the skin. He stopped, releasing a shaky breath just below her jaw and it was only when she felt her chest begin to hurt that she realized she'd been holding her breath.

Alex exhaled and shivered pleasantly when his tongue swept out again. But then he followed it with his teeth, nipping hard against her jaw, and her legs gave out beneath her.

Sherlock caught her around the waist with one arm as her back slid down the wall and pulled her up. He drove his hips against her, more out of instinct than to keep her standing (though it seemed to serve that as well), and attacked her mouth again.

Alexandra buried her hands in his hair, sliding to the roots and pulling hard, past caring whether or not she hurt him. He groaned against her mouth and she smiled, pulling back just enough to speak.

"Have I told you how much I like your hair like this?" she whispered, tugging again for emphasis.

He didn't answer, instead leaning forward to continue the kiss, but she could feel his smirk against her lips.

His mouth brushed over hers, their lips and tongues meeting and parting quickly, and Sherlock forced her legs apart with his knee.

The four successive knocks at the door alarmed them both and their mouths slipped past each other. They were left breathless and panting, heads turned in the opposite direction but still touching.

Alex had a clear view of the door and stared at the offending piece of wood in confusion.

The sound came again, louder and more impatient, and she finally remembered.

She untangled her hands from Sherlock's hair as his back straightened and he was a whole head taller than her once again.

"John."

His eyes were dark as he stared down at her. "Don't let him in."

His voice was deeper than normal, slightly husky and strained, and it made her mouth go dry.

It was tempting… so, so tempting…

"Okay really, I know you're in there! _You_ called _me_ remember!"

John's voice reverberated through the door and Alex sighed. She was eye level with the red splotches on Sherlock's collar and knew she had no choice but to open the door.

She looked up and stared into his eyes for a long moment before pushing herself up with her toes and pressing her mouth to his softly.

He didn't respond. He already knew what her decision would be and didn't try to stop her when she wiggled out from where his body still had her trapped against the wall.

When she got to the door her hand hesitated on the knob, turning to find Sherlock in the same spot. But now his head was bowed with his forehead braced against the wall. She knew without looking that his eyes would be closed tightly, his expression serious. She'd seen him do it before - mentally and physically force his body to normalize. It had been particularly necessary in rehab where it was imperative they kept their relationship a secret and didn't have a lot of privacy.

It seemed to be taking longer than she remembered though and she was about to ask if he was alright when John knocked again. The knob rattled anxiously in her hand and she glanced at Sherlock one last time before opening the door.

"Finally! I was beginning to worry. What…?" John stopped just in side the door when he saw his friend against the far wall. His expression turned from relieved to confused in an instant as his head swung from one to the other in quick succession. She knew the exact moment he figured it out because his head stopped and he turned to her with thinly masked anger and annoyance all over his face.

Alex knew it would only confirm his suspicions but she couldn't keep her skin from coloring as he stared at her.

Disappointment and disapproval radiated off him in waves and it made her feel sick. She spun on her heels and all but fled the room, thankful they'd kept the connecting door unlocked.

She shut the door softly and turned the lock before leaning against it. She breathed deeply for a few seconds, trying to get her emotions under control, but it was no use. Alex let her body slide down the door until she was sitting at its base and pulled her knees to her chest.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" she whispered to the empty room.

She shouldn't have let it happen. She never should have kissed him and she certainly should have stopped him from kissing her. Forget that she had absolutely no idea what she'd been trying to achieve, the simple fact that he was injured should have stopped her.

Her fingers dug painfully into her knees as she realized she'd pretty much taken advantage of him.

The idea that she'd used his instability to make herself feel better made her sick to her stomach again and she forced herself up.

Alex hurried into the bathroom and emptied her stomach. When she finished her head pounded and she rested it against the cold floor.

It was really turning out to be a miserable day and it wasn't even noon yet.

First, Sherlock had lied to her face about her case, then he'd been unnecessarily mean in the taxi. To top everything off he'd been assaulted outside the hotel and instead of taking care of him like she should, she'd made it worse by assaulting him in a completely different way…

God, she wanted to break something.

She pushed herself off the floor with a groan and turned on the faucet. Alex filled the small cup on the sink and rinsed her mouth. When she looked up she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and froze.

The collar of her jumper was stretched wide from where Sherlock had tugged it and her lips were still swollen from where he'd kissed her.

She glared at her reflection in disgust and before she knew what she was doing, her fist smashed into the glass.

The pain was sharp and immediate, though she barely cracked the mirror. When she pulled her hand back her knuckles were bloody and she stared at them in surprise. Her whole body began to shake and her head throbbed.

It came over her suddenly… that familiar need… and she gasped. She hadn't felt it in years. It was debilitating and she couldn't move from the sink. Her head swam with only one thought…

If she could just get her hands on some smack, if she could shoot up, she wouldn't feel this way. There'd be nothing but bliss…

Her mind began working overtime, sorting through past contacts and trying to recall telephone numbers. She'd thrown them out long ago and hadn't had the foresight to commit them to memory.

She shook her head anxiously when all she could come up with were her dealer's names.

No matter. She was sure she'd be able to find at least one of them. They didn't stray far from the usual hotspots.

The next obstacle wasn't really an obstacle at all.

Sure she had no money but there were other ways of getting what she wanted…

Alex was opening her hotel room door suddenly and didn't remember moving. The loss of time wasn't enough to give her pause and she was halfway out the door when her eyes fell on Carrow.

She felt like she'd been doused with ice water.

Reality came rushing back, replacing her need with guilt and sobering her mind.

There was no way Carrow would let her go off on her own and it would seriously defeat the purpose if she brought a policeman anyway.

Not that she even wanted it anymore, with the guilt coiling tightly in the pit of her stomach. She'd never be able to face Sarah or John or, god, even Lestrade again.

And then there was Sherlock…

Fuck.

Alexandra blinked slowly at Carrow. He'd been speaking and she hadn't heard a word. Now he looked worried but she couldn't seem to make her mouth work and hurried back into the room.

She returned to the en-suite in a daze and rinsed the blood from her hand. The skin beneath was raw and angry but it didn't look serious. She wished she had her pain medication though. At the same time, she knew it was better that she didn't, given what she'd been about to do.

Alex climbed into the bed and buried her face into the pillows, hoping she'd be able to sleep it off, but she was still awake when John knocked on her door almost exactly an hour later.

She'd guessed it would only be a matter of time before he came to tell her off. Apparently he wasn't going to disappoint her.

"What the hell were you thinking!"

She ignored his question and asked one of her own as she returned to the bed.

"How is he?"

"Two fractured ribs and a concussion," he answered angrily. "He's asleep now."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "How'd you get him to do that?"

He sighed and fell into the armchair. "I sedated him."

"He let you?" she asked in disbelief.

"Of course not, I put the sedatives in the glass of water I brought him," he spoke without the slightest bit of guilt and her eyes widened even more.

"He won't like that."

John shook his head stubbornly. "I don't care. It's not the first time I've done it and I'm sure it won't be the last. The body won't heal without rest and he _never_ rests. I don't have much of a choice," he added defensively.

They sat in silence for a few minutes and most of John's anger had faded by the time he spoke again.

"What are you doing Alex?"

You didn't have to be a mind reader to know what he meant. She sighed and rested her head in her hands.

"I don't know."

"Well you had better figure it out," he said seriously, "because I swear if you're winding him up only to disappear again…"

"What did he tell you?"

"Not much," John admitted, "but I'm not an idiot."

Alex rubbed her eyes wearily with one hand and picked at a loose thread in the duvet with her other.

"He hates me John."

'No, I don't believe that," he countered and she laughed sadly.

"You don't know what I did."

"Then _tell_ _me_," he appealed and leaned forward impatiently, "and I'll be the judge. It can't be as bad as you think."

"It is… and it's a long story."

"I've got time. I can't go until he wakes up anyway."

Alex stared at him for a moment, silently warring with herself. She'd never told anyone before and if she could scrub it from her own mind she would. John was well-meaning though. She knew he only wanted to help.

She glanced at his earnest eyes once more and made her decision.

"Alright… get comfortable…"

* * *

**Am I the only one who pictures this Sherlock as a bit of a masochist?**

**So the big flashback was originally supposed to be included with this chapter but it's prooving quite the monster to write. I didn't want to make you wait for this bit while I finished so I split the chapter up.**

**Thanks for reading and please review!**


	22. Chapter 22

**OK so, this is not the entire flashback, I've broken it up. It's taking forever to write but I was already finished with this part. And if it were me, I'd rather get 2 or 3 chapters in a reasonable amount of time than wait for 1 insanely long chapter!**

**I think it works just fine this way but please let me know if you think otherwise.**

**Thanks to purpleflames, C'estMoiLiz, Vilentiel, XMillieX, Che, Goddessof Shadows, 88dragon06, itsbeautiful9, TheDoctorsMistress, Aimee, LolaWants, laced-with-fire, Bookwormiie, Lee, coconuts-are-funny-27, MORE, and PennyParrish for continuing to read and review. I love hearing what you think and your support really means a lot!**

**Here's Chapter 22! Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

_Something wasn't right._

_It seemed like a perfectly normal Wednesday at first. She'd woken up, had breakfast, met with group, and that evening she'd have her weekly session with Doctor Madison. But when one of the staff came to her room and told her Madison wanted to see her right then, two hours before the scheduled time, Alexandra was filled with an immediate sense of dread._

_Every worst case scenario she could think of ran through her mind at full speed and she couldn't stop the panic that rose up in her throat. He'd found out everything, he had to of. Why else would he call her to his office? It couldn't possibly be to chat, they barely got through the weekly meetings as it was. His dislike of her was not overtly obvious but it was there nonetheless. The feeling was mutual. From almost the moment she'd arrived her mind had latched on to the idea that he was the reason she was there. He was her jailor, and she'd gone out of her way to annoy him. It was never anything serious, mostly just her mouthing off or deliberately being difficult, but there was that time she and Sherlock had broken into his office. Okay, Sherlock had done all of the breaking in, she'd only stumbled upon it. Doctor Madison had never said anything but she had a sneaking suspicion that he knew she was the one who'd stolen all his pen caps and left his desk in disarray. Again, it was nothing wrath inducing, but she knew from experience that it was the little irritations that got under your skin and stuck with you. So of course he didn't like her…_

_Alex stopped just out side her door, a strange sort of fear stealing across her face._

_Oh god, what if he was kicking her out?_

_She tried to convince herself that she wouldn't mind. She'd be free, after all. It would be great, in theory. In actuality the thought that she wouldn't see Sherlock every day made her chest tighten painfully. He was the only friend she'd made in a long time, and she didn't completely understand how or why, but she knew not seeing him would tear her up inside. She relied on him too much now. Being with him was like her new drug and she wouldn't survive if that was taken away from her too._

_Alex almost laughed at the melodramatic turn her thoughts had taken. Where had those come from? Of course she would survive, she had to. She wasn't some sappy character in some cheesy love story, ready to fling herself off a bridge because she couldn't be with the person she wanted._

_But it would hurt… a lot._

_She moved down the corridor like she was walking to the guillotine, with heavy feet and shifting eyes desperately seeking a way out. She shuffled to a stop, several meters from Madison's office door, and stared in surprise as Brian walked out._

_He smiled at her as he passed and at the last moment she grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. He turned to her, eyes twinkling with amusement, and she wanted to slap him._

"_What did you do?"_

_His smile turned to one of condescension. "It was for your own good."_

"_What was? What did you do?" she repeated._

_Brian pulled his arm away from her and winked. "It's not healthy you know, this obsession with me."_

_She gaped at him in stunned silence and his grin widened._

"_I am not obsessed with you," she ground out through clenched teeth but he only laughed lightly and continued down the corridor._

_She stared after him a moment, anxiously trying to figure out what game he was playing now._

_She was still sleeping with him and, god help her, she didn't know if it was because she actually wanted to or out of fear. She'd gotten in too deeply to casually end things now. Who knew how he'd react if she tried? He hadn't hit her again, not since he'd found her with Sherlock, and had been overly adamant with his apologies. He insisted he hadn't meant to, that he'd just snapped when she'd slapped him, and said it would never happen again. She wanted to believe him._

_Alex silently wondered when she'd become this cliché, wanting to trust a man who'd previously been so cruel. At least she wasn't suffering under the delusion that he loved her. It was a small reassurance but a reassurance nonetheless._

_With a sad shake of the head she closed the distance to Madison's office and knocked before she could change her mind._

"_Enter," Madison spoke briskly, voice muffled through the thick wood. _

_She opened the door reluctantly and made her way into the room. It was filled with light from the open windows and Alex could hear the faint sounds of traffic in the distance. She was dazed for a moment, eyes focused out the window. It was her first glimpse of the outside world in weeks. All the time she'd been coming to this room she' d not once seen the windows open. It seemed odd now, like he was trying to tempt her somehow. But she wasn't going to complain. The breeze felt wonderful, especially compared to the stale, recycled air she'd been breathing. _

_She shifted and her gaze swept over Madison's thick form as she moved to the chairs opposite his desk. She tripped slightly on the rug when she saw Sherlock seated in one of them._

_His expression was calm, bored really, but his arms were crossed so tightly over his chest his hands were beginning to turn red._

"_Have a seat Alex." Madison gestured to the space next to Sherlock and she sank into it, eyes flicking briefly to the young man next to her. _

_He didn't acknowledge her but now that she was closer she could see that although his expression was indifferent, there was an acute anger in his eyes as he glared at Doctor Madison._

_He knew why they were there. He knew what Madison was going to say._

_And he didn't like it._

_The Doctor stared at them for several minutes, fat head shifting between the two. Sherlock's steady gaze never faltered but Alex's eventually wavered and fell to her lap._

_With a sigh, he finally spoke. _

"_Is there anything either of you want to tell me?"_

_Madison leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands over his large belly as he waited for them to speak, but neither did._

"_You might as well own up to it. I know you've been sneaking around together."_

_He didn't really sound angry, only irritated and tired, but Alex felt her shoulders tense and she frowned, still not raising her eyes. She knew without a doubt that Brian had told him what he'd seen. As far as she knew, none of the other staff even suspected anything. And she certainly wouldn't call it sneaking… they practically never left Sherlock's room. It's not like they were meeting in secret, organizing clandestine rendezvous so they could be together._

_Her frown deepened and she blushed slightly._

_She was doing those things, just not with Sherlock. But Brian wouldn't have told Madison that. He'd never risk his job._

"_Well whether or not you admit it," Madison continued in irritation when both Alex and Sherlock failed to respond again, "it isn't allowed and you know that. Three Elms is a place of healing…"_

_Sherlock snorted loudly, the first sound Alex had heard from him since she'd entered the room, and Madison scowled._

"_It IS a place of healing," he spoke quickly, "not a social mixer. You need to be concentrating on beating your addiction, not forming romantic attachments."_

_His words echoed sharply in her head and she was thrown for a moment._

_Romantic attachments?_

_That wasn't what this was… right? He was just a friend she fooled around with sometimes…_

_Even as the idea entered her head she knew it was wrong. If all she felt was friendship for Sherlock she wouldn't have become so worked up thinking Madison might make her leave and she'd never see him again. And she knew the best parts of her day, the only bits she even enjoyed, were when she was with Sherlock._

_Alex choked down a gasp at the realization that when she wasn't with him she was biding her time, counting the minutes until she could see him again._

_And if she was near him she had to be touching him. It wasn't always sexual either. Just a hand on an arm or leg, nothing inappropriate. In group she'd even gone as far as to push her chair right up next to his so she could press her leg against his own. He never tried to stop her. Even better was when she could convince him to abandon the uncomfortable folding chairs and join her on the sofa. Then she could curl her legs beneath her and lean against him, her whole side molded to his… _

_Okay, on second thought maybe the staff did suspect something. That wasn't incredibly stealthy of her._

_Even now she was as far right in the chair as she could be, body angled towards him unknowingly. As soon as she realized she shifted to the middle of the chair in embarrassment._

_When did this happen?_

_She tried to pinpoint the exact moment she'd begun to feel more than friendship for Sherlock but she was drawing a blank. It had come on so gradually she hadn't even realized it was happening._

_But why had it happened in the first place? Sherlock was nothing like what she was normally attracted to. He was scarily smart and couldn't be bothered to speak most of the time. And when he did, it was usually only to say something rude. But she knew he could be kind and funny when he wanted. He had the most amazing voice too, so thick and velvety that when he spoke she felt like it was rubbing against her skin. Some nights his voice was all the foreplay she needed. And of course it was hard to ignore how weirdly beautiful he was. Graceful and sexy, in his own strange way._

_And those eyes…_

_She'd not spoken of her past much and when she did it wasn't in great detail, but when he looked at her through those piercing eyes it was like he knew everything about her… her past, her family, her secrets, why she said and did certain things, what had gotten her there, and most importantly, her dependency. They shared that._

_She felt herself flush suddenly and couldn't believe she hadn't figured it out before now, but there was no denying it…_

_She was head over heels for Sherlock._

_It was more than a little unsettling._

_Alex frowned and shifted restlessly in the chair. It didn't help that, for the most part, she never knew what he was thinking. Never knew what was going on in that big, scary brain…_

"_Alex, are you listening to me?"_

_She jerked slightly and looked up at Doctor Madison with wide eyes. Had he been speaking?_

"_Um… yes."_

_His eyes narrowed skeptically. "Really? What did I say?"_

"_You said, 'Alex are you listening to me.'"_

_She didn't even think, it just rolled out of her mouth and Sherlock made a small noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Alex couldn't help but smile at the sound despite Madison's obvious anger._

_His fist hit the desk loudly, upsetting the framed photo of his wife, and Alex jumped in surprise._

"_Fine, if you won't take this seriously, here's how its going to be," he began furiously. "If I hear so much as a rumor that the two of you are still carrying on once you leave this office both of your rooms will remain locked and you won't be allowed to wander freely through the building. You'll be escorted everywhere. Do you understand?"_

_Alex blanched and stared at him warily. He couldn't do that, could he? Surely he wouldn't… She absolutely hated that room. It was too small and too bleak. It didn't even have a window. She'd felt like she was going crazy when they'd locked her in before. It was almost worse than the withdrawal. And the only other option was not being with Sherlock?_

_No, she was going to tell him that he couldn't do that, she wouldn't let him… any second now… Her mouth opened and closed but nothing came out. She turned to Sherlock but he appeared unmoved and didn't even look her way._

_He wasn't going to help her._

_Without looking at Madison she nodded twice and something deep in her chest began to hurt._

_This seemed to be enough of a response and the Doctor sighed in relief, leaning back in his chair once again._

"_Good. Sherlock, you can go. Alex, stay a moment."_

_Sherlock was halfway out of his seat when he told her to stay where she was and hesitated slightly. For a split second he looked uncertain and she thought he was finally going to say something, to object. _

_He didn't. _

_He rose from the chair, not even glancing her way as he left, shutting the door behind him quietly._

_She'd followed his progression with her head and had to turn back quickly when Madison cleared his throat._

"_Brian says you're harassing him."_

_If she'd been anymore shocked by his blunt statement she'd have slid right off her chair. At any rate, it drove all thoughts of Sherlock out of her head._

"_What?… I… What?" she sputtered._

"_He says," Madison continued calmly, "you've been following him everywhere and no matter how many times he says no, you won't stop propositioning him. He says its starting to make him very uncomfortable."_

_She gaped at him, completely taken aback, while her mind swam in confusion._

"_You don't seriously believe that?" she asked finally. _

"_Honestly, I don't know what to believe. You've proved time and again that you're not taking your stay here seriously."_

"_I…"_

_He held up a hand to stop her. "No, let me finish. You aren't taking it seriously but I'm worried that if we were to release you, you'd relapse almost immediately."_

"_I wouldn't," Alex argued but even she heard her voice waver uncertainly._

"_Are you one hundred percent sure of that?" he asked, leaning forward slightly. "Do you know the percentage of heroin addicts that relapse? Believe me, the odds are not in your favor." _

_Madison sighed suddenly and swiped at his face with a meaty hand. When he spoke again his voice was softer and he sounded even more tired._

"_Most heroin addicts can't handle it. They'll start and stop detox ten to twenty times in their lifetime, but it'll never completely take. Look, I'm not saying this to frighten you. I'm just trying to prepare you for…"_

"_What does this have to do with anything? Are you going to make me leave?" she interrupted, voice slightly panicked._

"_No one is making you leave Alex. I got a bit off topic but the point is, if you stay here I need to trust you. How am I supposed to do that, when I keep hearing these things?"_

"_I'm telling you the truth! He's the one lying! He's trying to…" she closed her mouth quickly. For a moment she'd been ready to confess everything just to see if he'd believe her. The only thing that stopped her was the thought that he might do just that; believe her. _

_Doctor Madison watched her curiously for a moment. He could tell she'd been about to say something important. Something about Brian. But he didn't press it._

"_Very well," he said thoughtfully. "Just keep your distance from him. If you can do that I'll know you're telling me the truth."_

_That seemed entirely too easy and Alex got the impression that he actually wanted to believe her. Maybe Brian wasn't as charming as he thought…_

_After a few more seconds of silent scrutiny that made her want to squirm, he finally told her she could leave and not to bother coming back for their regular session._

"_Alex…"_

_She stopped with her hand on the knob and faced Doctor Madison._

"_I hope you know that, however much you might think otherwise, I'm not doing this to punish you. I'm just trying to make you focus on what's important."_

_He sounded so sincere that all she could do was nod. He looked like he wanted to say more but she opened the door quickly, not giving him the chance to stop her again. _

_Once on the other side she felt like she could breath again and his words began to fade. Her eyes scanned the hallway and she felt a twinge of disappointment. She'd half hoped Sherlock would wait for her. Maybe he was taking what Madison said seriously. She hadn't expected him to, but then she'd expected him to argue with Madison in the first place._

_Alex began the short walk back to her room with a painful heaviness in the pit of her stomach. Every new step was more difficult than the first, like the air around her was suddenly thick and something was pressing down on her. All she wanted was to climb into bed and forget that it had taken so little to scare Sherlock off. But then, she hadn't fought Madison either._

_They were both cowards._

_A warm hand closed over her arm and tugged her backwards without warning. At the same time, another hand closed over her mouth, muffling her surprised shriek. She struggled as she was pulled out of the hallway and through the nearest door. It shut with a loud thud and she felt her attacker's grip loosen. She wrenched away from him and swung around, arms raised to defend herself, but froze instead._

_It was Sherlock._

_Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, her back was pushed into the closed door roughly and his mouth covered her own. She was too stunned to stop him and fisted her hands into his shirt to pull him closer. His own hands were on the door on either side of her waist, trapping her. His mouth moved so forcefully against her own she was sure there'd be bruises. But she didn't stop him. Her mind was too busy screaming in relief that it was only Sherlock. For one terrified moment she'd thought it was Brian…_

_That thought was enough to rouse her and her eyes flew open with every intention of telling him off for scaring her, but she pulled her head away too quickly and it slammed against the door._

_She cursed loudly at the sudden pain and Sherlock smirked at her in amusement as she released him to rub the back of her head gingerly._

"_Shut up, that hurt," she spat in annoyance and his smile widened. _

_Her stomach tightened at the sight and she sighed. It was so rare, but Alex loved when he smiled like that. His whole face lit up and he looked like a completely different person. He looked happy._

_There was no way she'd be able to yell at him now. He must do it on purpose._

_She knew she was smiling now too, but when he moved in to kiss her again she stopped him with a hand on his chest. His smile faded and he stared at her in confusion. _

_Alex let her eyes fall to his throat. _

"_When you didn't say anything before I thought you were angry with me," she breathed out quickly and watched his jaw clench as he mulled over her words. He was silent for what seemed like a long time but she knew it couldn't be more than a minute. When she looked up again he was still watching her but his expression was blank. For a moment she thought he was going to push her away but he surprised her my moving closer, dipping his head and attaching his lips to her neck._

_He sucked lightly and Alex tilted her head back as far as the door would allow. She groaned and gripped his bicep with her left hand while her right grabbed the back of his head, anchoring him in place. He bit down gently and she let out another soft moan, sliding her fingers over the short hairs on his head. It had grown. Not a lot, but now it felt like she was running her hand over well trimmed grass._

_Sherlock left a few wet kisses near her chin before fixating on one specific spot and sucking hard, drawing the skin into his mouth. It felt wonderful, just the right amount of pressure, and her eyes closed tightly._

_It would leave a mark. A nice red bruise where everyone could see. _

_Normally she'd love that, but, given the conversation they'd just had with Doctor Madison, she felt like she should say something..._

"_Aren't you worried he'll do what he said?"_

_The steady tug on her neck ended. "Not really. We'll just have to be more careful," he murmured against her skin. "It'll be a challenge." He kissed his way up her neck and pressed his lips to hers lightly before pulling back to look her in the eyes. "I like challenges."_

_She could see the excitement in his eyes and smiled. _

"_What about now? Is this careful?" she asked teasingly._

"_What? I locked the door."_

_She looked around the room finally and realized they were in the same supply closet that she and Brian had used that first time._

_Brian…_

_Her light smile disappeared and she smoothed her hands over Sherlock's shoulders._

"_After you left, Madison said Brian told him I was coming on to him and it was making him uncomfortable."_

_He winced at the mention of the orderly but didn't look surprised._

"_I know, I was there when he told him. I'm certain it was more for my benefit than yours." _

_Alex sighed and leaned forward, pressing her face against his chest. One hand went to her back, holding her in place, while his other absently traced the fabric around her hip._

_After a long moment she tried to speak but soon realized her words were muffled. She turned her head to the side and could hear the steady thump of his heart as she repeated herself._

"_I'm not going to see him anymore."_

_Sherlock's entire body stilled against her. "You're free to do what you want," he said carefully._

_Alex pulled away so she could cup his face with her hands and look him in the eyes._

"_I am."_

_His eyes moved over her face intensely and she knew he was reading her, trying to convince himself that she meant what she said._

_They finally settled on her own and were darker than she'd ever seen them. They bored into her and she felt a shiver move straight up her spine, leaving her whole body tingling with want._

_She swallowed with difficulty and opened her mouth to say something, but it was lost in her throat because he was suddenly there, crowding her against the door with his tongue in her mouth and one hand disappearing between the loose band of her trousers…_

"No, no, no, please stop!"

Alex glanced up in alarm to find John out of the armchair, waving his arms back and forth frantically. She was confused at first but understood immediately when she saw the blush spread across his cheeks.

"Too much?" she smiled.

"I should say so! Don't tell me those things… seriously you can't, because now I'm picturing it and I really don't want to imagine Sherlock doing… that!" John flinched and frowned at Alex. "Oh great, too late! You see what you did? I'm going to have to live with that in my head forever."

He was smiling slightly now and Alex laughed.

"Fine… prude…"

"Hey!"

"I won't bring it up again," she continued quickly, "unless it's necessary to the story. Alright?"

"I don't see how it could possibly be necessary to the story, but I'll take it… so what happened next?"

Alex sighed and her smile fell away. "I went to find Brian."

"So you could tell him to stay away?" John asked and sat down again.

"Yes"

"I can't imagine that went well."

"No," Alex said seriously, "not well at all…"

* * *

**What did you think? Please review!**


	23. Chapter 23

**Uggghhh this was a really hard chapter to get out and I'm still not happy with it but I don't know what else to do...**

**Hope its ok.**

**Thanks to purpleflames, TheDoctorsMistress, House Calls, Bookwormiie, 88dragon06, Sally, Aimee, XMillieX, LolaWants, coconuts-are-funny-27, PennyParrish, and Shostakovich for reviewing. I try to update faster for you!**

**Chapter 23:**

* * *

_Alex left the supply room with a spring in her step and her spirits high._

_A quick, hot shag against a door will do that, apparently. _

_She felt giddy and reassured. Sherlock wasn't going to abandon her because of Doctor Madison's threat. They were just going to have to be sneakier and maybe they wouldn't see each other as often but it was better than not at all. And who knew, maybe when they were both released (Madison couldn't keep them there forever) they'd still want to see each other and wouldn't have to hide it. That thought alone was enough to scare her, but if Sherlock was willing she'd definitely want to give it a go._

_Even knowing she had to confront Brian wasn't enough to deter her good mood. At first, she'd considered just ignoring him, keeping her distance like Madison said. Something about the way he'd said it was beginning to nag at her though, like it was a warning and not just because of what Brian had told him. But she knew ignoring him wouldn't work forever. Eventually he'd come to her and that's exactly what she wanted to avoid._

_About a half an hour before curfew she crept out of her room, eager to get it over with. It was Wednesday so she knew he'd be in the laundry room. It was the only day he didn't work overnight and at the end of his shift he always took the soiled bedding to wash. She'd met him there several times. He'd barricade the door and for the next fifty or so minutes they'd… amuse themselves. Then the machine would scream at them, Brian would pop the sheets into the dryer, and they'd continue._

_It made her sick to think of it now but at the time it was fun and destructive and completely distracting. She'd needed that, especially in the beginning when she was ready to die from the cravings and nothing but Brian or Sherlock could make her forget them._

_It was funny how two relationships that had begun under similar circumstances could feel so different now. Of course, she reasoned as she approached the laundry room, it was because she'd finally realized how much she cared about Sherlock. Half the time she wasn't even sure she liked Brian._

_The latter of the two looked up as she pushed open the door, a knowing smile on his face._

"_I knew you couldn't stay away." He turned his back and shoved an armful of sheets into the machine. "Just give me a minute to get this started."_

_Alex took a deep breath and moved away from the door. "I'm not here for what you think."_

_The industrial washing machine began spinning with a loud whoosh and Brian turned around._

"_Oh yeah?" he responded curiously. "Then why are you here?"_

_Alex felt some of her confidence ebb and slip away as he watched her intently. She'd wanted to get it over with quickly, to tell him she was done and to stay away from her, but now that she was in front of him she couldn't find the words. Instead, her head was filled with questions._

"_Why did you lie to Doctor Madison?"_

"_I lied?" He had the gall to look confused and Alex stamped her foot impatiently._

"_You told him I was harassing you."_

"_You mean you're not?"_

_She huffed in protest and Brian rolled his eyes._

"_Relax, it was a joke." He leaned back against the folding table, resting his thighs against the edge, and crossed his arms over his chest. "I didn't mean anything by it."_

"_But you said it in front of Sherlock and I know you told Madison about us. Why would you do that?"_

_Brian's expression grew serious as he stared at her. "I already told you, it was for your own good."_

"_What are you talking about?"_

_He sighed dramatically and took a step towards her. "I had to tell Doctor Madison because he's the only one who could put a stop to it."_

_Alex's mouth fell open in surprise. "Why does it need stopped?"_

"_So we can be together of course," he answered quickly and her eyes widened in shock._

_She stared at him, dumbfounded, for several seconds, until his lip twitched and his head was thrown back with laughter._

"_Oh god, your face! It's priceless!" He was almost doubled over with laughter now and she waited with increasing anger. When he finally stopped his face was red and his eyes were watering from laughing so hard._

"_Come on, I know you didn't seriously believe that. We both know what this is."_

"_Then why do you care about Sherlock?"_

_All traces of Brian's previous mirth disappeared and he took two quick steps towards her. Alex had to fight the urge to back away._

"_There's something wrong with him, surely you can see that."_

"_He's…"_

"_He's a freak Alex," he interrupted. "You should see some of the things his brother sends him. We have to sign confidentiality forms before we can even go through his post. Its all photographs of dead bodies from every angle, pictures of bloody body parts… it's disgusting."_

_She flinched but didn't understand why she was surprised. It made sense, sort of. After his brother's sudden appearance, Sherlock had reluctantly explained a few things and she knew Mycroft had been trying to elicit his help when he'd tried to give him that envelope. Had it been filled with photographs like that? If he was being sent these things she'd never seen them in his room and it wasn't like there were many places to hide them. Where was he keeping them?_

_She shuddered as an image of the horrors that might be in those photos popped into her head and she spoke quickly before it could fully form._

"_So? They're probably crime scene photos or something. His brother does something for the government and Sherlock's brilliant. It makes sense that he'd ask for his help."_

"_Maybe," Brian said quietly, "but we can barely stomach them when we inspect them. It takes a 'special' kind of person to be able to look at those and not run screaming."_

_Alex scowled at the emphasis he put on 'special', like it was the dirtiest, most disgusting word he could think of._

"_I'd hate to imagine what a person like that is capable of," he continued. "He could hurt you."_

_Alex scoffed in disbelief. "Don't pretend like you care. Anyway, of the two of you, you're the only one that…" _

_She stopped herself quickly. Neither had mentioned it since his initial apology and she had no desire to do so now. She wasn't completely sure how he'd react if she did. But judging by the narrowed eyes and stiff posture, it wouldn't be well._

"_Look," she continued, unconsciously taking a step back, "it's nice that you're 'concerned' but I can take care of myself." She frowned at his obvious skepticism but pressed on. "And I'm not here to discuss Sherlock with you. I wanted to tell you, face to face, that we can't… are you even listening to me?"_

_She stepped out of the way as Brian walked past her. Her head turned, following him with her eyes as he marched purposefully toward the door. Without saying anything, he slid the rooms only folding chair against it, angling the back to wedge beneath the handle._

_Alex froze, her whole body going still in surprise. She felt the panic and fear wash over her but couldn't move as he turned to regard her._

"_Jesus, look at you… you're terrified," he said quietly. He took several steps towards her but stopped and frowned when she scrambled backwards. "What is your problem? Relax. I heard what you said alright, and I'm sorry I said those things to Madison. There's no reason for you to be scared," he huffed in annoyance. "It's not like I'm going to force myself on you."_

"_Then why did you block the door?" Alex asked, her voice wavering._

"_Because I'd rather no one barge in when I give you your present."_

_Alex's eyes widened and she was too surprised to back away as he moved again, closing the distance between them quickly._

"_Well more of a peace offering really," he said._

_She watched in bewilderment as Brian reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny clear bag filled with what looked like white powder. She knew exactly what it was and her body went numb with shock. _

_Alex couldn't believe it… Brian was just standing there, waving at least three grams of cocaine in front of her as though it were perfectly normal._

_She was quiet for a long time, too paralyzed to react at first. "How did you get that in here?" she hissed._

"_They don't check the staff," he smiled. "I know it's not your favorite but its all I could get on short notice."_

_The gravity of the situation finally began to set in and Alex felt her mouth go dry, leaving a strange, bitter taste in its wake. A tremor had begun in her legs and was slowly moving upwards but she was still so numb she could barely feel it. Instead, it was like she was looking at herself from across the room… watching the familiar 'want' and 'need' reveal itself. It was there in her hitched breath and the slight tremor that had now reached her arms. She saw it in the beads of sweat on her forehead and the flush in her skin…_

"_What's the matter?"_

_Brian's voice startled her and she was suddenly aware of her body again. Her chest hurt and she clutched at it, forcing herself to breath._

"_I thought you'd like it." Brian frowned. "Have you not had coke before?" He shook his head absently. "No of course you have. I mean, nobody starts with heroin right? Oh well, if you're not interested…" He began to turn, shoving the bag back into his pocket._

"_Wait!" Alex squeaked, surprised by the shrill sound of her voice._

_Her mind was filled with contradictions… she saw herself scream and grab at the bag. She saw herself hit him and run away. But all she could manage was a pathetic, "you work at a rehab…"_

_Brian smirked. "I know, ironic isn't it?" _

_He pulled the drugs back out of his pocket and stepped around her, walking to the table silently. She followed, unable to take her eyes off the tiny white crystals. She was hypnotized by them._

_Brian tapped a little of the bleached substance onto the table top, cutting it into two small lines with his security card._

"_Ladies first," he smiled and moved aside, gesturing theatrically._

_There was no hesitation. Two small steps and she was there. It was that simple. All she had to do was lean over the table, inhale and… oh, it was heaven!_

_The rush was instantaneous, straight to her brain, and the pleasure was almost too much. Over the past year she'd stuck with heroin exclusively and had forgotten how cocaine made you feel. The highs were so different. With heroin it was like her entire body was wrapped in cotton, muffled against the world, and filled with a drowsy sort of pleasure. But this… this was all energy and movement. She vaguely saw Brian copy her but every nerve ending was on fire and her skin was vibrating with so much electricity that she'd forgotten she wasn't alone. But when he put his arms around her waist from behind she quickly remembered. Alex stiffened for a moment, his touch sending a distracting jolt through her limbs._

_She was forgetting something. Something important…_

_She felt it try to surface through the euphoria but suddenly Brian's lips were on her neck, chasing it away…_

Alexandra stopped talking abruptly and John blinked at her in confusion.

"Why did you stop?" he asked.

"I said I would if it wasn't relevant."

"Oh," John said quickly and then followed it with a wide-eyed "OH" as he understood what she meant. "Well…"

He trailed off but forced a smile. She could see him struggle to not judge her. It made her uncomfortable but at least he was trying not to. Most people wouldn't bother.

"Go on then. What did you do after that?"

Alex exhaled heavily and continued her story.

"The high only lasted about twenty minutes so we took a little more. Then Brian pointed out that curfew had started and that I should go back to my room before I got in more trouble. When I left he gave me the rest of the coke."

John's eyes widened. "And you took it?"

"I know it wasn't smart," Alex admitted sheepishly, "but I was high. It made me feel like nothing could touch me." She closed her eyes for a moment. She could remember exactly how it felt… It was amazing.

She shook her head quickly, trying to rid herself of those treacherous thoughts, and focused on John again.

"So I left with every intention of going back to my room…"

"But?"

Alex sighed. "But somehow I ended up at Sherlock's instead…"

_She pushed the door open easily, not bothering to knock, and Sherlock blinked at her in startled confusion. He'd been lounging on the bed, staring absently at the ceiling, but when he heard the door open he'd righted himself immediately._

"_You're not supposed to be here. We agreed, remember?" he said quietly._

_Alex smiled, still a little high from the drugs, and made her was to the bed. _

"_I know. I really didn't mean to come here, but I'm glad I did."_

_She didn't give him a chance to speak, cupping his face in her hands and bending at the waist to kiss him. Out of instinct, his arms wrapped around her middle, pulling her closer and letting her snog him. But he didn't return it._

_It only lasted a few moments before he pulled away to look at her. _

_She groaned slightly in protest and turned her attention to his neck, delighting in the way his pulse beat a steady rhythm against her lips. She heard him say her name several times but ignored it, choosing instead to climb onto the bed until she was straddling him and burrowed even closer. _

_She didn't seem to notice, or at least didn't care, that he sat on the edge of the mattress, unmoving and unresponsive. When he finally moved it was only to slide a hand up her back and into her hair, wrapping it tightly around his fingers. Without warning, he tugged, jerking her lips away from his neck with a wet plop. His hands tightened around the smooth strands, keeping her head at an awkward angle as his eyes roved over her._

"_What did you take?"_

_Alex smiled slyly as though she hadn't heard him. "I love when you're feeling rough."_

_Sherlock sighed impatiently and tugged on her hair again, sharper this time, and she gasped._

"_What. Did. You. Take?"_

"_Wha…?"_

_With an annoyed grunt, he released her hair and his hands skimmed her body quickly. _

_She arched into his touch at first, but when she realized what he was doing she frowned and tried to push his hands away._

"_Stop Sherlock, I heard you alright! I'll tell you."_

_They struggled for a moment but he found what he was looking for easily. He rose suddenly and Alex was unceremoniously deposited on the floor. She was stunned for a moment and sat in a heap near the bed while Sherlock paced the small room with the packet of coke clutched in his hand._

_She didn't have to look up to tell he was furious. She was eyelevel with his legs and could see it in the manic, jerky way he moved about the room._

_Alex pulled herself up and watched him warily. He was staring at the drugs in his hand and mumbling under his breath. She assumed he was fighting the urge to rip it open but she didn't know why. In her experience, denying your urges never ended well. _

"_Go on then, if you like," she encouraged quietly and Sherlock spun towards her._

"_You're an idiot," he spat angrily, keeping his voice low so it wouldn't travel through the thin walls._

_Alexandra's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Why? Because I got high? I didn't ask to come here remember." She took a step closer and lowered her voice. "Can you honestly tell me you're not getting a thrill just from holding it? That you don't want to feel that way again?"_

_Sherlock shook his head in annoyance. "More than anything, but that's not why you're an idiot." He waved the bag in her face. "Where did you get this?"_

_She opened her mouth to answer but he sneered and spoke again. "Stop, I can see you're going to lie. It doesn't matter anyway, I already know."_

_Sherlock crushed the small bag in his hand until it disappeared from view._

"_Don't you see what he's trying to do? It's so obvious." Her confused expression made him sigh in frustration. "I know you're not that naïve." He moved closer, invading her personal space in an attempt to command her full attention. "Brian got you high and gave you the rest of the coke because he 'wants' you to get caught with it."_

_She blinked and had to lean back slightly for fear of being overwhelmed. She always had trouble focusing when he was that close. Combine it with the drugs still in her system and he'd definitely gotten her attention. Just not in the way he'd hoped._

_She placed her hands flat against his chest and felt her pulse race._

"_Then lets get rid of it…"_

_Sherlock took a step back and her hands dropped._

"_You mean…?"_

_Alex nodded. "We'll take the rest and then there won't be anything to find."_

_He stared at her, seriously considering her offer. He wanted to, there was no denying it. As soon as he'd seen it, held it in his hand, a jolt had gone through him. In fact, he would have already done, if he didn't suspect Brian had told Madison about the cocaine. He'd most likely fabricated some story about finding some in her sheets…_

_No, it wasn't the right time. He was certain they were already looking for Alex. They should be focusing on a place to hide it. Save it until they could enjoy it without fear of being caught._

_He jumped slightly when he felt her hand on his arm, surprised to find he'd been too deep in thought to notice her move._

"_Not now," he shook his head reluctantly. "We need to…"_

_Alex cried out in frustration and gripped his arm tighter. "Have some or don't, I don't care, but for god's sake, Sherlock, stop talking! I want your hands on my body. I want you inside me so badly I can't think. How can you stand there and be reasonable?"_

_He gaped at her in astonishment and she wanted to scream. Before he could stop her, Alex fisted her hands in his loose shirt and pulled him down until she could reach his lips…_

"Really? Again?" John interrupted, his voice laced with incredulity.

Alex blushed and shifted on the bed. "No actually. We were interrupted." She paused and smiled sadly before continuing. "But, if we're being honest, Sherlock had already pushed me away when the door opened."

"Was it Doctor Madison?"

"Yes," she nodded, "and two orderlies."

"Brian?"

"No, he wasn't there… but Sherlock was right, he'd orchestrated the whole thing," Alex sighed. "It was pretty bad… it didn't help that Sherlock still had the coke in his hand."

John tilted his head in confusion. "Surely they…"

"Oh they tested us both and I was the only one that came back positive for any drugs. Madison assumed Sherlock had given them to me though."

"Okay, but you told him that wasn't true, right?"

Alex lowered her head in embarrassment and felt her face flush. She heard John shift uncomfortably from the armchair but she couldn't bring herself to look at him.

"I never said anything," she answered quietly and left it at that. She still didn't know why she hadn't. Maybe she was scared or confused or just a horrible person. How could she explain it to John when she didn't understand it herself?

"Sherlock must have said something in his defense?" he asked and Alex shook her head.

"I don't know, Madison was true to his word. I didn't see Sherlock for almost two weeks and when I did he wouldn't talk to me. He wasn't at any meals or meetings in that whole time. I have no idea where they were keeping him or what they were doing, but I spent every night in my locked room, imagining all sorts of terrible things."

The room was silent for several minutes but she swore she could almost hear John thinking, mulling over everything she'd told him. She picked at a loose thread in the bedding and waited for him to speak.

"It wasn't your fault," he said finally and Alex snorted in disagreement. "Okay fine," he continued, "it was your fault, but you were in a bad place, so was Sherlock for that matter. I'd like to think he'd understand that."

"I'm sorry, have you met him?" she joked bitterly and John chuckled.

"I always try to think the best of Sherlock. I don't know if it's because I've seen something in him or just wishful thinking half the time, but…"

He trailed off and Alex looked up at last, carefully meeting his gaze. His smile reassured her.

"Anyway, I'm glad you told me." He stood and stretched. "It's good to have it out in the open, but I'll be honest, I don't think its nearly as bad as you let on..."

He faltered when she tensed and her expression grew pained.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I'm not done John. I haven't told you everything," she admitted softly. "It gets much, much worse."

His eyes widened but he settled back into the armchair silently and waited for her to continue…

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**Please review! It makes me crazy with happiness!**

**And Happy Thanksgiving to those in the States!**


	24. Chapter 24

**Sorry for the delay! Here's an extra long chapter to make up for it!**

**Small warning - theres some language and it gets a bit distrubing towards the end.**

**Also, I hope this chapter lives up to expectations... I know I've been building up to it for a long time so I hope it's not disappointing.**

**Thanks very much to itsbeautiful9, Amelli-Kara, purpleflames, Bookwormiie, laced-with-fire, TheDoctorsMistress, LolaWants, Lee, 88dragon06, PennyParrish, Aimee, coconuts-are-funny-27, MORE, and Redheaded for reviewing!**

**Chapter 24:**

* * *

Alex took a deep breath and held it in, her face a perfect mask of indecision. John watched her carefully but didn't speak. He had to admit he was eager to hear what she had to say, despite her obvious discomfort, but he still didn't want to rush her. She'd get there in her own time. His eyes widened as he wondered whether she'd ever told this to anyone… her husband perhaps? He wouldn't be surprised if she'd done her best to forget the entire ordeal, if the pained look in her eyes was any indication. It almost seemed like the memories had only resurfaced several weeks ago, when Sherlock had happened upon her at the first crime scene. It was hard to forget when faced with the very object you were trying to purge from your mind. John knew that from experience. All he had to do was turn on the news and he was back in Afghanistan…

He shook his head and forced himself to focus on Alex. She was looking at him, but not really. On closer inspection he could see her eyes were glossy and she wasn't seeing him at all. He frowned as she flinched and shuddered slightly, her mouth forming a grimace as she remembered something particularly upsetting.

John wanted to clear his throat and remind her that he was still there, waiting, but instead his left knee began bobbing impatiently. He told himself she'd tell him when she was ready but he couldn't help his curiosity. It was never a trait he thought he possessed, this curiousness. Sure he was a doctor and that required a certain amount of inquisitiveness but he was also a soldier. He was used to taking orders and not asking questions. It wasn't until he met Sherlock that he realized how deep it actually went. Living with someone who's very nature was built around his curiosity had awakened his own desire for knowledge, especially in regards to the detective, whom he still felt like he barely knew most of the time. He hadn't though it necessary to tell him about the drugs or rehab or Alex, after all.

After what seemed like a long time but could only have been a matter of seconds, Alex exhaled and met his gaze. John could see, in the determined set of her mouth, that she'd finally resigned herself to what she was about to tell him and he forced his knee to stop jerking.

"I was surprised when Doctor Madison didn't immediately make me leave," she admitted quietly. "But, like I said, he was true to his word."

"What do you mean?"

"I had absolutely no privacy after that. Well, not unless I was in my room, which was locked again, and someone was with me at all times when I was allowed out. They even hired someone because there weren't enough people to watch me twenty-four hours a day."

"Really?" John asked with wide eyes. It wasn't that he didn't believe her, he just found it odd that she'd been given that much attention. It must have been a very expensive rehab for that kind of personal care. They'd obviously been determined to get her clean, though he doubted she thought of it that way at the time.

Alex nodded. "It was a woman. There wasn't a lot of female staff so I thought she might be different, but as soon as I met her I could see why she was hired. Biggest bloody woman I've ever seen. Not fat, mind you, just large and solid."

"Was she awful?"

"Yes but not in the way you probably think." She smiled slightly at the confused look on John's face. "She wasn't mean… she wasn't anything. She didn't talk to me, not once. Maybe she was told not to, I don't know, but I would have preferred she was cruel to that. I hate silence."

The Doctor raised one eyebrow in an excellent imitation of Sherlock. "You hate silence and you were friends with…?" He trailed off and waved his arm in the general direction of the other room.

Alex stared at him for a moment, unsure how to answer. When she finally spoke her voice was so quiet John had to lean forward to hear her.

"There are different types of silence. Hers was hostile… Sherlock's wasn't."

John smiled sadly at that but pressed on. "Okay, so you were pretty much locked away… where was he?"

"I already told you," she said quickly, "I didn't see him again for almost two weeks. Who knows where he was?"

"With Mycroft, at his flat."

Sherlock would have smirked at Alex's gasp and the way they both visibly jerked in surprise if not for the pain. The walk from the bed to the door had all but exhausted him and, if that wasn't enough, the energy exerted to pick the lock threatened to undo him. His head and ribs ached and the gash on his cheek was covered but still stung severely from whatever antibiotic John had used. He swayed from side to side as the room began spinning again and braced himself on the doorframe.

"Sherlock, you're supposed to be resting!" John jumped up and hurried to help him.

"Yes, well perhaps your sedatives aren't as strong as you think."

John stopped moving, grimacing with bewilderment and annoyance as his tall friend shuffled forward by himself.

"Oh don't look like that," Sherlock continued. "Do you think you could drug me if I didn't let you?" He nudged John out of the way and sank into the vacated armchair, a slight hint of relief playing on his face as he allowed himself to relax.

He looked at Alex for the first time since entering the room but she studiously avoided his gaze and he turned, once again, to John.

"Have you been enjoying her story?" he asked pleasantly, face blank of emotion.

The Doctor hesitated. He was torn between making Sherlock let him look him over again and telling him to leave so Alex could finish. On one hand, he knew his friend had probably done further injury to himself by moving about. On the other, he desperately wanted to hear the rest of Alex's tale and seriously doubted he'd let him examine his wounds with her present anyway.

With a sigh, John pulled out the desk chair and sat stiffly.

"It's been very informative."

"I'm sure it has," Sherlock spoke softly, his eyes sweeping over the young woman seated on the bed.

She could feel his eyes on her and couldn't stop her cheeks from coloring as she remembered the way he'd looked at her earlier… when John knocked and he told her not to answer it. When she finally mustered the courage to look up his eyes were closed and he seemed to have completely melted into the chair, boneless. John must have taken his shirt off to get a good look at the bruises and Sherlock had put it back on hastily. It was only buttoned halfway from the bottom, as though he'd forgotten what he was doing, and she could see the top of a bandage John had wrapped tightly around his torso.

They sat in silence for several minutes and Alex glanced at the Doctor for direction but he only shrugged. She was beginning to think Sherlock had drifted off when he spoke again.

"Aren't you going to continue?"

His simple words momentarily stunned her and she could only gape at him.

Sherlock opened his eyes when she didn't answer. "You can't leave it there, you haven't even gotten to the best part," he spoke sharply and Alex cringed.

"You're staying?"

"I think I'd better," he nodded. "I don't want to be misrepresented, do I?"

John's head turned from one to the other and he cleared his throat.

"Sherlock, I don't think…"

"I was there John," he snapped quickly. "She's not going to shock me!"

"Yes, but I still don't think…"

"It's fine John," Alex interceded hesitantly. "He's right anyway, he knows what happened."

Sherlock hummed in satisfaction despite the uncomfortable expression she was wearing and sank further into the armchair.

Alex cocked her head in thought before turning to John. "Where did I leave off?"

"Um… you said you had no privacy and you didn't know where he was." He gestured towards Sherlock and tried to situate himself on the hard chair. It wasn't nearly as pleasant as his previous seat.

"Right, I…" Alex trailed off as Sherlock's confession rushed to the forefront of her mind. She turned her head so quickly it felt like she had whiplash.

"You were at Mycroft's!" she spoke, outraged. "Mycroft's!"

"I was beginning to think you hadn't heard me," Sherlock grumbled under his breath.

Alex stared at him in shock, her whole body trembling with anger. She wanted to hit him. To yell and scream at him for not telling her sooner, but all she could do was repeat herself in a high voice.

"Mycroft's! MYCROFT'S!"

Sherlock winced and narrowed his eyes. "You will, at some point, cease shouting my brother's name?" he asked and Alex faltered.

"It's just… I thought... I thought…"

Sherlock huffed and raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Not again. John, do something."

Before the Doctor could chide him Alex groaned in frustration and fell backwards on the bed, covering her face with a pillow.

She couldn't believe it. All this time her overactive imagination had him locked away in some dank, dark room enduring all manner of unspeakable things.

But no… He was with his brother.

His rich, posh brother.

Probably doing rich, posh things…

"Alex, are you alright?"

She forced herself to sit, letting the pillow fall to her side, but didn't answer John. Instead she met Sherlock's unflinching gaze.

"How is that possible? They just let you leave?"

"You'd be surprised what money will get you." He paused and smirked cruelly. "Oh wait, you wouldn't."

Alex frowned and began to blush but refused to let him shame her again. She opened her mouth to tell him to sod off but John beat her to it.

"Knock it off Sherlock. Just answer the question. How did you leave?"

He blinked at John before sighing deeply. "Mycroft was paying an inordinate amount of money, not just to keep me there but for information. He was updated daily and knew what had happened within the hour. He was angry and sent someone to collect me."

Alex stared at him with mounting confusion. "But… you came back. You were free and you came back… why?"

His gaze flicked to her briefly and she started but quickly convinced herself she'd imagined the sudden panic in his eyes. A second later he was perfectly composed.

"Mycroft gave me a choice; remain clean and stay with him or return to Three Elms for an undetermined span of time. Obviously, only one was a viable option," he said seriously.

Alex stared at him for another moment and couldn't stop a small smile from curling her lips.

Of course he would do that. In his mind, nothing was more unbearable than Mycroft.

The corners of his mouth turned up as though he could read her mind and something low in her gut clenched. She looked away quickly and ran a hand through her hair. Her eyes fell on the tiny alarm clock and she saw it was approaching two in the afternoon. She couldn't believe she'd been explaining her history with Sherlock to John for over an hour. It was emotionally exhausting and part of her wished she'd never started. Now, with Sherlock so close, it would only get harder.

John cleared his throat and looked at her. He could sense her discomfort and smiled sympathetically. "You don't have to continue, if you don't want to."

Sherlock snorted and the Doctor stared at him. He'd closed his eyes again and all but disappeared into the armchair, body contorted to make him as small as possible. Not an easy thing, considering his height. John thought it must be painful, especially given the injuries, but Sherlock didn't seem to mind.

"Yes you do. Tell him," he ground out, face muffled against the upholstery.

John opened his mouth to argue but Alex stopped him with a quick shake of her head. She'd gotten this far, she might as well finish. The sooner she did, the sooner she could try to forget again.

She grabbed the pillow at her side and hugged it to her chest, forcing the words past her lips…

_Shut up, shut up, shut up!_

_Alexandra's arms tightened over her chest in irritation and she glared at Doctor Madison. He'd been talking incessantly from almost the moment group began and she'd done her best to tune him out. It was childish, but she refused to listen if he wouldn't tell her what she most wanted to know._

_She looked around the room from her place on the sofa and tried to forget her exhaustion and the heavy pounding in her skull. It hadn't let up in over a week, since the moment she'd started to come down from the coke, and she was beginning to think it would become a permanent fixture._

_Alex barely recognized the other faces around her. Why should she? In all her time there she hadn't bothered to talk to a single one of them. Now she felt more alone than ever because the one person she could talk to had disappeared. Not that he'd want to talk to her after what happened…_

_She sighed and turned her attention to Doctor Madison again, watching his jaw flap open and shut without really hearing. She'd asked him repeatedly to tell her where Sherlock was but every time she brought it up he either ignored her or changed the subject._

_It was infuriating…_

"_Where is he?"_

_Alex didn't realize she'd spoken out loud until the few people nearest her glanced over curiously. Madison's voice faltered for a second and she knew he'd heard her too, but, once again, he ignored her._

_She felt her skin flush with anger. Alex didn't know if it was the lack of sleep or the sharp ache in the back of her head, but every new word that issued from his mouth pushed her closer to the edge._

_She knew it was only a matter of time before she snapped and was past the point of caring._

"_Where is he?" she repeated louder, and this time, all eyes were on her._

_Madison hesitated, his gaze flicking to her briefly before diving back into whatever it was he'd been prattling about._

_A loud thud echoed throughout the room and a sharp pain crept up her arm. It took her a moment to realize she'd slammed her fist against the side of the sofa and the other patients stared at her warily._

_But at least she knew she finally had the fat Doctor's attention._

"_Where is Sherlock?"_

"_Alex…"_

_The next few seconds were a blur of movement. _

_Madison's sympathetic yet smug demeanor had her up and in front of him before she could blink. She wanted to fist her hands into his shirt and shake until he answered her, but she never got the chance._

_Her shadow was on her before she could lay a hand on him and Alex felt her feet leave the floor as she was physically carried from the room._

_She struggled to no avail and slowly began to calm down when she saw the carpeted floor change to tile from her position over the large woman's shoulder._

"_Alright…" Alex spoke loudly but the other woman gave no indication that she'd heard her and kept moving briskly down the corridor. When they rounded the corner she tried again._

"_Alright! I'm done, you can put me down!"_

_She was set on her feet so abruptly she almost fell and had to grab the tall woman's arm to steady herself. As she fought to breathe evenly she wondered, not for the first time, how it was possible she didn't know this woman's name. She'd been with Alex almost constantly for the last eleven days and in that time she'd not spoken a single word to her. If it wasn't for the fact that she'd seen her talking to Doctor Madison, she would have thought her mute._

_She let the unnamed woman grip her upper arm lightly and they set off down the hallway again. The incessant hammering in her head had, unsurprisingly, gotten worse since her outburst, and she actually didn't care that she was about to be locked in her room. For the first time since she'd been brought to the wretched place, she welcomed it. Maybe there, laying in bed with the blanket over her head and eyes squeezed shut, her mind and body would finally take pity on her and go numb._

_That simple wish was thrust out of her head, however, because as soon as her chaperon pulled her through the doors that separated the patients rooms from the rest of the rehab she saw HIM at the other end of the corridor._

_Sherlock walked towards her, looking very much the same as he always did. Unlike her, he had no escort. Alex was stumped for a moment, confused as to why he was allowed on his own, but as he approached every thought and emotion was replaced with an overwhelming anxiety and she had to force herself to breathe._

_He didn't look at her once, not even as they passed, but continued staring at the empty space before him, his face a pale, blank mask._

_Alex followed him with her eyes until she was walking backwards and finally found the courage to speak._

"_Sherlock…" She winced when she heard the pitiful, desperate tone of her voice but was afforded a small reassurance when his shoulders hunched and he slowed slightly._

_There was no denying he'd heard her._

_She was ready to call out again but, when the doors they'd just come through opened to reveal Brian, she choked on the words._

_Sherlock tensed but Brian paid him little heed. He hurried passed and Alex started when she realized he was heading for her._

"_Martha!"_

_Martha?_

_Alex wrinkled her nose in confusion. It wasn't until her personal warden slowed and then stopped that she understood it was the woman's name._

_She glanced around Brian as he approached and caught one last glimpse of Sherlock. Just before his thin frame slipped through the double doors he glanced over his shoulder and, even at her distance, Alex could tell he was perturbed._

"_Change of plans," Brian spoke quickly and smiled at Martha. "Madison wants to see her in his office." He jerked a thumb towards Alex without looking at her and, for the second time in less than an hour, she felt her skin flush with anger._

_At least Martha didn't seem quick to believe him. Alex felt her hand flex and tighten against her arm as she regarded him skeptically._

"_Alright," she spoke slowly after a long moment and started back the way they'd come, Alex in tow._

_Brian darted in front of them._

"_I'll take her. You've been working thirteen hours straight, go home." His smile was bright, charming and utterly deceptive._

_Alex knew she should be afraid, scared of what Brian was trying to accomplish, and she was. She could feel it, squirming under her skin, but, at the moment, it was buried beneath the rage and hate that threatened to suffocate her._

_Some part of her hoped Martha let him take her. Then at least she could confront him. Finally get some answers… but there was no way Martha, large silent Martha, was going to let Alex out of her sight without hearing directly from Doctor Madison._

_But wait…_

_Her hand was loosening, just barely brushing her arm, and then it was gone altogether. _

_Alex had a blind moment of panic and thought 'No wait! I didn't mean it!" Her eagerness to confront Brian abated quickly when faced with the reality of actually being left alone with him._

_She shivered when his heavy hand replaced Martha's. Alex looked up at the tall woman in surprise but before she could say anything Brian was pulling her away._

_She waited until Martha was out of sight before speaking._

"_Don't you think she'll figure it out, when I don't make it to Madison's office?"_

_Brian chuckled deep in his throat and watched her out of the corner of his eye as they continued their fast pace._

"_What do you think I'm going to do, kill you? It wasn't a lie. He does want to see you… apparently you tried to attack him?"_

_She could hear it was meant to be a question and Alex shrugged as best she could with one arm. Let him think she was ready to hurt someone…_

_Brian's grin only widened. "I'll take you to him, but we need to have a chat first, privately."_

_His words slithered down her spine and she cringed. It didn't take long for her to realize they were headed for the laundry room, deep in the bowels of the compound. The chances of anyone stumbling upon them there were slim. Usually she was thankful for that privacy. Now she wasn't so sure._

_Alex pulled her arm out of his grasp as soon as they were in the room and he shot her an annoyed look before securing the door with the old wooden chair._

"_That's not necessary," Alex spoke quickly, crossing her arms and putting as much distance between them as she could._

"_Sorry, habit."_

_Alex sighed and scratched her cheek absently. "What do you want?"_

"_I need to know if you told anyone about my um… involvement in what happed last week."_

_Alex shook her head and let her gaze drop to the floor. "No."_

"_Are you certain?" Brian's voice dropped and he took a few menacing steps forward. "Because that fat bastard's been acting funny around me…"_

"_I didn't say anything." But I wish I had, she added silently._

_Brian smiled brilliantly and took a few more steps. "I hope you aren't planning on speaking up now? Not that they'd believe you after you waited so long, but I'd hate to think of what would happen if you did…"_

_Alex heard the threat in his voice and felt her skin grow cold. She nodded once, heart pounding as he began moving closer, and managed to force out a strangled, "why?"_

_He stopped in the middle of the room and regarded her curiously. _

"_Why what?"_

"_Why did you do it? Give me the drugs? You knew what would happen. Were you trying to get me thrown out?"_

"_If I was it obviously didn't work," he scoffed. "Besides, why would I compromise a free fuck?"_

_Alex cringed and clenched her fists, a familiar revulsion warming her belly._

"_No, I was trying to get your 'boyfriend' kicked out but a lot of good that did. The rich freak's already back."_

_He closed the distance between them, quickly invading her space and walking her backwards with his hands on her hips._

"_I've never been much for sharing," he whispered and leaned down to kiss her but Alex flattened both of her hands against his chest to stop him. _

"_Well that won't be a problem because this, whatever it is, is done." She pushed rougher than she intended, spurred on by her bold words, and ducked around him. _

_Every fiber in her body was telling her to run, to get out of there as fast as she could, but she forced herself to walk calmly to the door._

"_You think that freak wants you? That he can satisfy you?" he sneered and Alex's sure step faltered. "You'll be back."_

_It started in her knees and worked its way upwards until her whole body was shaking with outrage. Alex turned suddenly and stalked towards him._

"_That 'freak'," she began slowly, her voice cold and quiet, "is more than you'll ever be. You're nothing next to him and it doesn't matter if he wants me or not, I'll never come back… you cocky piece of shit."_

_She took a moment to savor the look of complete shock on his face before turning on her heels and marching purposefully to the door. She almost had the chair unstuck when she heard him come up behind her._

"_Just leave me alone!" she growled without turning around and continued to struggle with the impromptu lock._

_For one short, satisfied moment she thought he was actually going to let her leave. But then his hand gripped her waist, hard enough to bruise, and she was pulled back. Before she could stop him, he crushed her face between his hands and shoved his mouth against her own._

_Alex curled her hands into fists and beat at his chest, trying to push him away, but it only made him increase the pressure on her head until his vice-like grip made her cry out in pain. He thrust his tongue between her lips when her mouth opened and she gagged and almost choked as the large, wet muscle forced its way in. Her eyes watered and for one terrible moment she thought she was going to suffocate, but then Brian's teeth clashed painfully with her own, reminding her she wasn't entirely defenseless._

_She bit down as hard as she could and he pulled away immediately, screaming as his hands flew to his mouth. Alex could taste the sharp, copper of blood on her tongue as she hastened to the door. She kicked the chair out of the way and reached for the knob but her head snapped back suddenly and she was dragged away with his hand fisted in her hair. Her scalp burned as he used the momentum to fling her to the ground. He was on her in an instant, pinning her arms to the ground and spreading her legs with his knees. _

_She paled as she fully comprehended what he planned to do and tried to pull her arms from underneath him. She rocked side to side frantically in an attempt to buck him off but he readjusted and she felt one hand at the waistband of her trousers._

"_Don't!" she gasped but Brian just grunted and began to jerk them down one-handed. Panic began to overwhelm her and she struggled with renewed vigor._

"_Hold… Still…" Brian panted and fisted his hand into her hair again. He used it to raise her head, only to slam it into the hard floor a second later._

_Alex was left dazed and breathless, bright stars exploding in front of her eyes. She could feel him fumbling to pull her trousers and pants down again but she couldn't make herself move. Her head lolled to the side, cheek pressed against the cold concrete, and she could feel something wet on her face._

_His belt clicked, impossibly loud in her ears, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She waited for the tell-tell pressure, praying that he would be quick, but it never came._

_A rush of air above her made her open her eyes…_

_Brian was gone._

_Her brain took longer than normal to register this vital information while a series of strange noises to her left distracted her. Alex turned her head towards the sound slowly and found Sherlock straddling Brian. She watched his fist come down over and over as though it were the most normal thing in the world._

_But then something clicked back into place and reality came rushing back. She struggled to fix her clothes with shaking hands and sat up. The room spun and she remained still for a moment, cradling her head in her hands until she was certain she could move without getting nauseous. She turned back to the two men and felt a sort of sick satisfaction at the blood covering Brian's face._

_Sherlock's fist continued its relentless movement and after awhile she could see that Brian was no longer struggling._

"_Sherlock stop," Alex spoke quietly and if he heard her he gave no indication._

_She forced herself to her feet. "It's over…"_

_When he still didn't stop she hurried towards them.  
"Sherlock, you'll kill him!"_

_She gasped quietly when a voice in the back of her head told her to let him. She didn't care what happened to Brian… but she did care what happened to Sherlock, and there was no way he'd get away with it. He'd be locked up._

_Alex grabbed his arm as he raised it again._

"_You can't!"_

_He shook her off without looking, shoving her backwards as he continued to pound the man below him._

_The next few hours were some of the strangest she'd ever experienced._

_Alex tugged on her hair in worry, racking her brain for a way to get him to stop, when the door burst open. _

_Doctor Madison was suddenly there, followed closely by Martha and three orderlies. Madison made a beeline for Alex and it took all four of the others to pull Sherlock off Brian. Madison sat her against the wall and she looked on in surprise as Martha pulled a pair of handcuffs out of thin air and bound Sherlock's wrists._

_Some more time most have passed because the next thing she knew Brian was being loaded onto a stretcher and taken from the room._

_Her eyes searched the room for Sherlock again. He was deceptively calm all of the sudden, his demeanor perfectly juxtaposed with the splatters of blood on his face and clothes. Martha had his arm in an iron grip while she talked to Madison._

_Then the Doctor was in front of her again and she blinked up at him. He'd apparently been talking and stared down at her with some concern when she didn't respond. He crouched down in front of her with difficulty. _

"_Do you need medical attention?"_

_Her eyes widened but she didn't speak so he continued._

"_Tell me what happened."_

_Alex's gaze flickered to Sherlock and Martha uncertainly._

"_No Alex, look at me!" Madison waited for her to comply. "If you have something to say, now would be the time," he said seriously._

_She stared at him for so long he repeated himself . When she finally shook her head Madison sighed in disappointment. He moved away to give instructions and she looked for Sherlock again, but he was already gone…_

Alexandra was surprised to find her eyes closed when she finished talking. She opened them to find John staring at her thoughtfully, waiting for her to continue.

"That's it," she sighed and rubbed her forehead. "We didn't see each other again. Well, not until a month ago."

"You have questions…" Sherlock's deep voice issued from the armchair and Alex started. She'd almost forgotten he was there.

"Uh, yes several," John admitted and the detective waved his hand lazily, giving him permission. "So Martha was a cop?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered and Alex flopped back on the bed, happy to let him talk for awhile.

"Doctor Madison had suspected, for quite sometime, that Brian was stealing meds and engaging in illicit relations with the more… aesthetically pleasing female patients, but no one would come forward." He glanced at Alex's legs dangling over the side of the bed. "He needed proof. Martha went to Madison as soon as Alex was out of sight. It was just the situation they were waiting for."

"Why," John asked, "didn't he just fire him?"

"Because he knew he'd just get another job and start again. Madison wanted him locked up."

John was silent for a moment, deep in thought. He knew Brian hadn't ended up in prison because he was working at that psychiatric hospital. That had to mean…

"You're quite right John. Alex wouldn't give a statement explaining what happened," he said quietly. "And because I didn't have a mark on me, it was easy for Brian, when he woke up, to say I'd attacked him, unprovoked."

"Well I understand the restraining order now," John attempted to joke but it fell flat. He cleared his throat before continuing. "Did anything happen with that?"

"Not really, no. He pressed charges but I never saw the inside of a courtroom. Mycroft took care of it," he added bitterly. "Now ask the question you're dying to ask. I'd like to know the answer myself."

Alex sat up quickly and looked at Sherlock. "I'll save you the trouble John… I was stupid, and scared, and eighteen years old. It's the only excuse I have. I wanted to say something but every time I tried nothing would come out." Sherlock rolled his eyes and she frowned. "I needed to get out of there so I called the number on the card your brother gave me. I don't know what he did but they let me leave voluntarily and he wrote me a check with the promise that I'd stay away. I didn't look back." She finished with a huff and stared at Sherlock unapologetically, as though daring him to judge her.

"Actually," John began tentatively, "that wasn't my question."

Alex and Sherlock both turned away from the other and stared at the Doctor in confusion, waiting for him to continue.

"Do you regret it?"

Alex was taken aback for a moment. "I…" She could feel Sherlock watching her intently and wanted to hide under the covers. She sighed finally and rested her head in her hands.

"I regret a lot of things John." She knew it wasn't really an answer and risked another glance at Sherlock but his eyes were fixed on his lap.

"Look," she sighed again after a long silence, "I know it's really early but I'm suddenly very tired, so…"

"Leave us for a moment John," Sherlock spoke abruptly, cutting her off and she stared at him in surprise.

"Um, yes, of course, okay." He got up slowly, hesitating in front of Alex like he wasn't sure he should leave them alone, before moving into the other room and shutting the door carefully behind him.

Sherlock watched him go and then pushed himself out of the chair with difficulty.

"Alex…"

"Sherlock, I don't think…"

"Shhh, let me speak.

Alex groaned and buried her face in her hands.

"I…"

Oh god.

"Need…"

Don't.

"… you to sign some forms so I can exhume your late husband."

"WHAT?"

* * *

**So that's pretty much it for the flashbacks... I was hoping to have this finished before the new series started in January. Now that I know that's January 1st (whoohooo!) I can say with certainty that it's just not going to happen.**

**Remember: Concrit is love so please review!**


	25. Chapter 25

**ASiB was great but if this story wasn't already an AU it certainly is now!**

**Also, RIP Sarah... we barely knew ye.**

**Lots of thanks to purpleflames, House Calls, 88dragon06, C'estMoiLiz, itsbeautiful9, TheDoctorsMistress, emmablk1, Aimee, coconuts-are-funny-27, PennyParrish, Bookwormiie, kaittybee, LolaWants, Noirreigne, and MORE for reviewing! **

**Sorry for the delay but I hope you enjoy...**

**Chapter 25:**

* * *

As soon as it shut behind him, John pressed his ear against the hard wood of the door. The fact that Sherlock had asked him to leave both surprised and worried him. What was so secretive, so important, that he couldn't be in the room when it was said? He quickly dismissed the idea that it was something personal. Neither seemed particularly comfortable talking about the past, especially with each other.

His head turned slightly, straining for signs of life from the other room. What could they be saying? Maybe Sherlock wanted to give Alex a much belated "telling off" and didn't want to embarrass her further by doing so in front of John.

He shook his head. No, that wasn't right. He'd never seen his friend consider anyone's feelings but his own… Of course he'd never seen him snogging anyone either, but he doubted even that afforded the recipient special Sherlock privileges.

John smiled.

Special Sherlock privileges like having the detective actually acknowledge your presence. There was probably a list of people who qualified somewhere. It would be extremely short but he'd like to think he was on it…

"WHAT?"

John started and pushed away from the door.

"No way! Absolutely not Sherlock!" Alex continued from the other room after a short span in which he assumed his friend had been speaking, too quietly for him to hear.

He must have spoken again because Alex went quiet for a moment and John leaned closer to the door.

"Why?"

He could hear the suspicion in her voice, slightly lowered now that her initial shock at whatever he'd said had waned. There was a long stretch of silence that made him want to fling open the door, but he soon heard Alex scoff and his hand stilled on the knob.

"You won't even tell me why. What am I supposed to think?"

Tell her why? Why what exactly?

John was pulled from his thoughts by the light trill of Sherlock's generic ring tone. The muffled sound was coming from the bed and he rummaged through the duvet, cursing under his breath when the phone stopped ringing. About thirty seconds later it beeped and he recognized the text alert noise. He pulled it out from under a pillow triumphantly and read the screen: one missed call and a text from Lestrade. He didn't even hesitate before opening the text.

Answer your bloody phone…

John grinned and continued reading.

Done with your flat. Nothing new. Inspector says you can go home tomorrow morning.

Try to stay out of trouble…

GL

He walked the short distance to the door with the phone clutched in his hand and pressed his ear against it again.

Nothing…

After one more quick glance at the phone, John made his decision and knocked twice. Without waiting for an answer he opened the door and entered Alex's hotel room, secretly grateful to Lestrade for giving him an excuse.

He was momentarily puzzled when he found the room empty but a quite shuffling from the en-suite caught his attention and he peered through the open door.

Sherlock was leaning with his hips against the sink, a clump of bloodied toilet paper pressed to his cheek. He glared at Alex, who was sat on the closed lid of the toilet, arms crossed over her chest sullenly.

John took in the odd scene before him and cleared his throat. He took a hesitant step into the room as both pairs of eyes found him.

"I didn't hit him," Alex spoke up quickly, her tone and posture defensive.

"I never thought you did." Untrue. It had been his first thought and, from the sharp way his tall friend was watching him, he was certain Sherlock knew what he'd been thinking. John waited to see if he was going to tell her as much.

"What happened?" he asked, when Sherlock didn't speak, but he was promptly ignored.

Instead Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he looked John up and down, ending on the mobile still held tightly in his hand.

"What does Lestrade want now?"

John shuffled forward, sighing as he handed over the phone. He pulled Sherlock's hand away from his cheek so he could get a better look at the injury before answering.

"We can go back to Baker Street tomorrow… you should have come and gotten me when it started bleeding again," he said with growing annoyance.

The toilet paper had broken off in places, stuck to his face with drying blood like he'd cut himself shaving. Sherlock didn't even flinch when John began prodding the tender skin around the laceration. It was deeper than he'd originally thought, straight through the dermis and into the subcutaneous fat. In his haste he'd assumed Sherlock wouldn't need stitches. Now he wasn't so sure.

"Alright," John began seriously as he took a step back, "come on, my bag's in the other room."

"No, not until I have an answer."

Alex's arms tensed against her chest as she looked up at Sherlock. "I've given you an answer."

"Then let me rephrase… not until I have the answer I want."

"An answer to what?" John spoke up, suddenly remembering they'd been arguing about something. "Why did you ask me to leave?" He turned on the water and washed the small amount of blood from his hands while he waited for one of them to answer.

"He wants my permission…"

"Legal permission!" Sherlock interrupted. "I don't actually need your personal permission."

"Legal _permission_," Alex continued, scrunching her face in annoyance, "to defile Charlie's grave! And he won't tell me why, he just expects me to agree, no questions asked!"

John dried his hands on his trousers and stared at his friend in surprise.

"Sherlock, that's ridiculous! You can't expect her to allow that without knowing why."

"And that's exactly why I didn't want you here when I asked, I knew you'd take her side," he mumbled. "She's just being stubborn."

"No she's being respectful Sherlock, there's a difference you know. I'm sure if you just told her why you think it's important…" he tried to reason but the detective cut him off with an angry huff.

"Fine! Firstly; his parents died in a car accident. I read the report. Hit and run. They found the other car abandoned a few streets away. They never found the person operating the vehicle. Two weeks prior to the accident their home and their son's old office had been broken into. Both were ransacked but nothing was taken. So what were they looking for? It obviously wasn't in either place…"

Alex stared at him, aghast. "You can't mean to suggest that whatever it is, it's buried with…?"

Sherlock shook his head and spoke quickly. "I'm not finished." He turned to the Doctor, who's mouth was open, poised to speak. "And before you ask John, no, they never caught the housebreaker." He paused, took a breath and held up two fingers. "Secondly; I told you John Smythe's been out of the country. What I didn't tell you is he's in hiding. Not very well I'm afraid, it took me less than ten minutes to find him."

"Why?" John asked.

"Well, to start, the idiot didn't even think to use an alias…"

"No Sherlock," he spoke quickly, slightly exasperated. "Why's he in hiding?"

"Oh. There's been an attempt on his life as well."

Alex's eyes widened with shock and Sherlock turned to her.

"He seems to think he was attacked by a business rival who's interested in taking over the company, which, you were quite right, is a front. It's part of the reason he's got solicitors working around the clock to obtain full ownership and, I believe, why he hasn't contacted you directly." He paused when her expression changed to one of confusion. "When I told him you'd been targeted as well he assumed it was for the same reason. He thinks if he can prove he has sole ownership they'll leave you alone. Guilt can be a powerful motivator."

She sat in stunned silence for a moment, considering. When she spoke again, the hopefulness in her voice surprised her.

"Do you think…"

"No," Sherlock answered quickly, inwardly cringing when her face fell again. "It's nowhere near that simple. I expect it's less to do with the company, more to do with the man."

"John Smythe?"

"No. Charles Claymore."

He watched the emotions play over her face in rapid succession. Confusion, surprise, anger, and disbelief before finally settling on the worst of all; grief. She still missed him. She still loved him. That was going to make what he had to say next all the more hard.

"And thirdly, since we're being honest," he sighed bitterly, "I'm not entirely convinced he's actually dead."

The small room went deathly quiet and John held his breath, waiting to see how she would react. Her expression hadn't changed but a slight tremor began in her shoulders and her gaze fell to the floor. When she finally spoke, he could barely hear her.

"Get out."

He glanced at Sherlock but the detective appeared unmoved as he watched her curiously. Clearly he'd get no help there.

"Alex…"

"Get out," she repeated louder. She looked up when no one moved and John could see the pain and fury fighting for dominance in her eyes.

"This isn't the time for…" Sherlock stopped when Alex sprang up from her seat.

"Get out!" she shouted and pushed him back, towards the door.

His expression shifted slightly and he couldn't stop himself from wincing as she pressed harder against his chest but he made no move to stop her. John watched them impassively for a few seconds before grabbing a handful of his friend's shirt and pulling him from the room. The door banged shut behind them and he heard the lock slide into place with a click.

Sherlock wrenched his shirt from the other man's grasp and John watched the mild alarm that had graced his features only seconds before fade into indignation.

"Do you see why I thought it best she didn't know?" he spat quietly.

John pressed his lips together tightly and herded Sherlock through the door and into his own hotel room. After a quick stop at the desk to retrieve his bag, he ushered the taller man into the bathroom. He remained silent as he sat Sherlock on the edge of the tub and scrubbed the blood and bits of paper from his face. It wasn't until he stood in front of Sherlock, a tapered needle in one hand and suture thread in the other, that he allowed himself to speak.

"You can't honestly believe…"

"Someone's been accessing his accounts John," Sherlock said seriously, wary eyes on the needle. "Private accounts that only he and Smythe knew about and Smythe hasn't touched them."

John's hand came forward, pushing the needle and thread through the soft tissue of his cheek. "Accounts can be hacked Sherlock."

Sherlock shook his head slightly, cringing when the movement upset the Doctor's quick, precise strokes.

"Hacking leaves evidence. But there was nothing. No signs of forced entry, no altered computer code. Nothing."

"That still doesn't mean…

"His hospital records were destroyed in a fire John… a _fire_… a month before this all started. That's quite the coincidence, if they're unrelated."

John finished after only five small stitches and set the needle on the counter. "Those will need to come out in four days."

"Are you listening? A fire!"

"Yes Sherlock, I heard you."

"Well?"

"You're right, it's an awfully big coincidence but… are you sure you're not just seeing things because you want to see them?"

Sherlock inhaled sharply and stared at him with such stunned contempt that he immediately wished it unsaid.

John opened his mouth to apologize but the other man stopped him with a raised hand.

"I'd prefer you didn't speak if it's going to lower my good opinion of you. You'll forgive me if I pretend you didn't say anything."

John stepped back until he could lean against the wall. "I'm sorry, it's just… why didn't you tell me what you'd found? Why am I hearing all of this for the first time?"

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "Because I knew you'd feel obligated to tell her when, in truth, the less she knows the better."

"If I didn't know any better," John began slowly, "I'd think you were actually trying to be nice."

"Oh please…" Sherlock's eyes narrowed and his lip curled in derision.

"No really. I think you didn't want to tell her because you knew it would upset her."

"This is why you're not the detective John," he sighed dramatically. "If I withheld information it was only because I don't need a hysterical woman underfoot while I solve this."

John cocked his head to the side and regarded him curiously. "If you say so."

He started slightly when Sherlock bounded up in a fit of pique.

"I _do_ say so!"

He marched past John and into the main room, and the Doctor recognized the beginnings of what was sure to be an epic sulk. With a sigh, he followed.

Sherlock fell backwards onto the bed, one arm thrown up to cover his eyes and John had to fight the urge to roll his own. Without saying anything, he slipped back into the other hotel room quietly to check on Alex but the door to the en-suite was still closed. Sherlock was still in the same position when he returned.

"Alright then, I'm off."

"You're leaving?" Sherlock asked with forced nonchalance.

"I told Sarah I'd come back if I could and you'll be fine as long as you take it easy."

He slipped into his coat, shuffling his medical bag between hands. "I'll meet you here tomorrow morning and we'll go back to the flat."

John watched him thoughtfully, waiting for any sign that he'd heard, but Sherlock gave none. He shuffled his feet, suddenly reconsidering his decision to leave.

"Sherlock…"

"Go John."

"Right…" He hesitated near the door and turned back. "You should try giving her the benefit of the doubt sometime Sherlock, she might surprise you."

The door shut softly behind John and Sherlock found himself addressing the empty room.

"Nothing ever surprises me."

* * *

The sky grew dark and the afternoon gave way to evening in the blink of an eye, but still Sherlock didn't move from the bed. It was several hours later, closer to midnight, when the need to relieve himself finally forced him up. He went grudgingly, cursing the weakness of the human body. When he finished he returned to the bed, detouring slightly to lock the door and switch off the lights.

He laid back down, still fully dressed in his trousers and blood-stained button-up, and covered himself with the duvet.

As usual, sleep eluded him.

He didn't know how long he remained still, staring blankly into the darkness, a million different thoughts chasing each other through his head, each one making less sense than the one before.

It wasn't until he heard the slow creak of the door separating the two rooms that it occurred to him; he hadn't made sure it was locked.

He heard her stop just inside the room and turned his head. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness hours ago and he could easily see her outlined against the wall. He waited for her to speak, to announce herself, to shout, anything… but nothing came.

"Alex…"

"Do you know what pancreatic cancer does to a person?" she said as soon as she heard him speak, her voice a whisper in the dark room.

"I…"

"It sits there, deep in your belly, and grows so quietly you don't even know it's happening."

Alex stepped away from the wall with slow, determined movements. "The cancer grows and spreads and eats away at you until there's nothing left."

She paused at the side of the bed and stared down at Sherlock's dark shape. He didn't try to stop her when she placed first one hand, then the other on the mattress and eased herself up.

"You're emaciated. You're skin turns yellow and you want to scream and peel it away, it itches so badly. You're weak and tired and every move is a new pain, somehow worse than the last."

Alex lifted the duvet and stretched out next to Sherlock cautiously, moving closer with every word that passed through her lips.

"And if you're strong and you can beat the exhaustion, if you can fight it… the chemo's there to smack you back down and put you in your place. By the end you barely resemble a person… You're just a husk."

Alex exhaled shakily and pressed her forehead against his shoulder, ignoring the way it tensed beneath her. She waited quietly until she felt him begin to relax and let her arm settle across his chest.

"You can do it, but don't try to tell me he isn't dead," she whispered finally. "I watched it happen."

"Okay."

She sighed and her breath was warm against his neck. Sherlock closed his eyes and fought the urge to squirm. Instead he shifted slightly, forcing her head to his chest and sparing him the torment of her breath on his bare skin.

Time got away from him again, and he had no idea how long they lay there, not sleeping. At some point his hand found its way to her back and she burrowed closer, one leg tangling with his own.

It was familiar, so familiar. Her scent, the way she felt against him. As though no time had passed.

It was comforting and reassuring and wonderfully deceptive.

When she spoke again her quiet voice cut through the silence like a knife and he knew exactly what she was going to say.

"I think I should talk to Lestrade about going into protective custody…"

"… okay."

* * *

**We're coming to the end folks... Thanks for reading and, as always, please take the time to leave a review!**


	26. Chapter 26

**Many thanks to 88dragon06, Gollum4077, itsbeautiful9, laced-with-fire, purpleflames, PennyParrish, LolaWants, The DoctorsMistress, Amelli-Kara, Aimee, Anea the Morwinyon, coconuts-are-funny27, and TheCarolinaDrama for reviewing! You guys are the reason I do this! **

**Also, a lot of new people added this story to their alerts and favorites after the last chapter so thanks for that.**

**Ok, hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 26:**

* * *

If John was surprised to find Alex asleep in Sherlock's bed when he returned the following morning, he hid it well. He was, however, slightly taken aback when, in the taxi back to the flat, she asked to borrow his phone to call Detective-Inspector Lestrade.

"Why? Has something happened?"

Alex glanced at Sherlock but he was turned away from her, stony gaze focused on the window.

"No, nothing's happened," she began slowly when she realized he wasn't going to help. "I'm going to ask him to find another place for me to stay until this is sorted. I've taken advantage of your hospitality for too long."

He gaped at her. "Nonsense… Sherlock, tell her."

"It just so happens, we're in agreement for once," he spoke calmly and turned to look at John.

"What? That's ridiculous! You're both being ridiculous!"

He sighed when they just stared, neither scrambling to contradict him. "Just use Sherlock's."

"Dead."

"Fine." He passed her his phone. "But I think you're making a mistake. You've no way of knowing one place will be safer than the other…"

"Her attacker knows she's staying with us John."

"Okay, well there is that," he admitted reluctantly, "but at least with us you're among friends."

Sherlock snorted.

"_And_," John continued, ignoring the other man, "it doesn't put me out any to have you there. I hope you know that."

She didn't know how to respond. The man's kindness never ceased to amaze her and she wondered, not for the first time, how Sherlock had been lucky enough to meet him.

"Thank you John, but I've made up my mind," she said finally.

His jaw clenched and he stared at her oddly. She could tell he wanted to say more but something was stopping him. He didn't protest when she pulled up Lestrade's number from his list of contacts.

It went straight to his voicemail.

She left a terse message, asking him to please call her back on John's phone when he had a free moment, and returned the mobile to it's owner.

A part of her was relieved he hadn't answered. Lestrade hadn't bothered programming a personal greeting and halfway through the generic, mechanical message she realized she didn't really know what to say… or if she'd be able to say anything at all, with Sherlock seated so closely that their shoulders knocked together every time the cabbie hit a bump in the road.

The taxi pulled up in front of the flat and they filed out. Mrs. Hudson met them on the bottom landing, announcing loudly that she'd just gotten back as well. She immediately fussed over Sherlock's stitches and overall haggard appearance, firing off question after question that he deflected with practiced ease. He leaned slightly and pecked the old woman on the cheek.

"Excuse me Mrs. Hudson."

Alex watched him retreat slowly up the stairs as Mrs. Hudson turned her attentions to she and John instead.

She scolded them, not unkindly, for not taking better care of themselves, informing them matter-of-factly that they wouldn't be young forever before jabbering about the mountains of dust that can accumulate in two days time and flouncing off.

Alex smiled sadly and shook her head. She would miss Mrs. Hudson.

After a moment she started up the stairs, only to have John stop her, a hand on her elbow.

"What are you doing?" he asked seriously. He stood two steps below her, the change in height forcing his chin up slightly.

"That's the second time you've asked me that question," she sighed. "My answer hasn't changed… I don't know."

"So what? You're just winging it? Making it up as you go along?" John spat loudly.

"Shhh!" Her eyes darted to the bend in the staircase. "He'll hear you!"

"So? What do you care?"

"I care John, don't think for one second that I don't," she whispered harshly, fingers digging into the rail.

"Then how can you leave?"

"I have to."

John huffed in annoyance. "For god's sake, why?"

"Because every time I look at him it's like a stab in the gut, a constant reminder that nothing will ever be the same between us! And it's my fault!"

She seemed to lose momentum all at once and slumped against the railing.

"I don't know why you've got this romantic notion that something's going to happen, but the truth is, we're not good for each other John. Why can't you see that? We have two settings when it comes to the other person; argue or ignore."

John pressed a finger to his chin in exaggerated thought. "Oh I see… what did I interrupt yesterday at the hotel then? Was that arguing or ignoring each other?"

Alex felt her cheeks burn as he continued.

"Or a few weeks ago, when Sarah and I walked in on the two of you on the couch? For the love of god, you were in his bed this morning!"

"Nothing happened."

"I never said it did, you're missing the point…"

A loud chime issued from John's trouser pocket and they both fell silent. He hesitated, letting the phone ring once more, before fishing it from his pocket.

"It's Lestrade…"

He looked at her expectantly, shaking his head in disappointment when she held her hand out for the phone.

"Please John…"

"Morons, the both of you," he grumbled in frustration and pressed the phone into her hand. He caught her wrist before she could pull it back. "I just want him to be happy."

"Then you should be begging me to leave."

John shook his head wearily and didn't stick around to hear what she said to Lestrade. Alex waited until he disappeared around the bend in the stairs before answering.

She caught the DI just as he was ready to hang up. He seemed startled by her request but recovered quickly and, unlike John, he didn't try to talk her out of it. She was surprised, however, when he said it might be several days before he could find a place for her and that it would take a few more days to get the paperwork sorted, but in the meantime she was welcome to a cell at the Yard.

Alex couldn't tell if he was joking.

In the end, he asked her to give him a week.

When she went upstairs John was sat in his chair, feigning interest in a newspaper, and he barely looked up when she handed him his phone.

The door to Sherlock's room was closed.

She thought it best for everyone that she avoided him as much as possible while she was still there. It wasn't hard, he was almost never in the flat and when he was he usually resigned himself to his room.

She had a feeling he was avoiding her too.

The only time they came face to face was when he cornered her in the kitchen, waving a stack of papers under her nose.

She signed them all without a word and scarcely a glance. She knew what they were.

That night she watched from the bedroom window as Sherlock and John got into a car with Lestrade. They didn't return until the next afternoon and if Sherlock learned anything from the excavation he kept it to himself.

That was fine with her.

The next few days passed quickly. She spent most of her time in John's room, watching the comings and goings of Baker Street from his window.

The old lady who lived across the street walked her dog at eight thirty every morning, like clock work. A yappy little thing with strange tufts of hair and big ears. Right before that a young man would ride by on his bicycle, a brightly colored messenger bag strapped to the side.

If Carrow was on duty he left the car at nine forty five on the dot and went into Speedy's, returning two minutes later with a Styrofoam cup in his hand. He'd sip his coffee and have a cigarette, eyes sweeping over the street, before getting back into the car. He was relieved by a string of police officers every nine hours or so. Some she recognized, some she didn't. They never left the car.

In the late afternoon a curvy blonde woman always jogged by on the other side of the street, apparently impervious to the cold. Alex wasn't the only one watching her either. At the same time an absolutely ancient-looking man, with lines on his face so deep he looked like he'd been caught in a net that was pulled tight, appeared from the same block of flats as the old lady. He would watch the blonde runner go by, one long turn of the neck, and back inside he went. Alex had laughed the first time, taking a strange comfort in the truth that men were men, no matter the age.

It was surprisingly peaceful, watching them go about their daily routines, seemingly oblivious to the world around them.

She envied them that.

It wasn't until the second to last day of Lestrade's requested week that there was any deviation in the pattern. It could have been anything; an illness, a family emergency, or maybe he was just running behind that day. But when the cyclist with the neon bag failed to pass that morning, Alex felt a strange uneasiness settle in her chest. Somewhere deep in her belly, she knew things were about to change.

The feeling stayed with her throughout the day and into the evening, and when she finally fell asleep she did so in fits and starts.

John was spending the night at Sarah's and Sherlock had been gone most of the day, no doubt running the new officer Lestrade had tailing him completely ragged, if he didn't manage to shake him all together. Alex woke when he finally returned and glanced at the small clock on John's desk. Eleven. She listened for the sound of his door closing before relaxing into the bed as best she could and letting her body succumb to sleep again.

When she woke again it was to bolt upright in the bed, breathing heavily as the last vestiges of her nightmare slipped away and she could barely remember it.

Out of habit, she glanced at the clock. Five minutes after two in the morning.

Alex sighed and flopped back on the bed, willing her pulse to stop racing. She'd been running from something in the nightmare. Something big and her dream self had been terrified, but that's all she could recall. There was no doubt in her mind she'd known what it was in the moment but it had slipped away while she straddled the fine line between asleep and awake. All that was left of it now was a quiet anxiety that made her want to curl into a ball and pull the blanket up until it covered her completely.

Alex turned onto her side and pulled her knees up, head pillowed on her arms. She fought the urge to pull the duvet over her head like a scared five year old and closed her eyes. She felt her body relax a piece at a time. First her heart slowly stopped pounding and her breathing returned to normal, then her arms and legs became heavy and sluggish. Finally, her conscience mind began to retreat, crawling towards darkness like she was slipping below water, deeper and deeper until there was nothing…

An unexpected noise called her back to the surface and Alex tensed. She opened her eyes and blinked into the dark room, holding her breath.

Just when she'd convinced herself she'd imagined it, it happened again. A sudden tap-tap-tap on the window, almost like the patter of heavy rain on glass. She looked over her shoulder towards the origin of the sound and waited. Thirty seconds later, she heard it again and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. It had been slightly different that time, less of a patter and more of a single tap.

Alex ignored the pounding in her chest and stood, tugging on the hem of the white t-shirt she'd been sleeping in. It had belonged to Charlie, a favorite for lounging around the house on Sunday afternoons. It was one of the few things of his she'd taken when she left. It had been big on him and it swallowed her, the hem resting just above her knees. She pulled on it nervously and stared at the window but the room remained quiet, the only sound her heavy breathing.

Like it knew it already had her attention.

She shivered in the cold and padded to the window even as her brain screamed at her to stop. As she got closer she could see a light issuing from behind the curtain, a strange orange halo where the fabric failed to cover the glass.

She mustered her courage and, before she could convince herself not to, wrenched the curtain to the side.

What she saw completely stopped her and all she could do was gasp, one hand still gripping the window covering tightly.

The building across the street, the same block of flats she'd been watching for the past six days, was on fire.

It's funny, the completely irrelevant thoughts that run through your head when you panic. Almost like your brain is shutting down, refusing to process the information right before your eyes. All Alex could think was "I'm not dressed for this" and "I wonder if it's warmer now?"

She had no idea how long she stood there, mesmerized by the yellow and orange flames, when, all at once, the world seeped back in around her. She blinked and stepped back from the window quickly, letting the curtain drop into place. Now that it wasn't right in front of her she could think, and it hit her like a slap to the face; she should be calling someone.

It took her another minute of searching to remember that she didn't actually own a mobile and she raced down the stairs on bare feet, straight to Sherlock's room.

In her haste she didn't bother to knock and, luckily, the door wasn't locked. She stepped into the room, hand splayed on the wall in search of a light switch. When she found it she froze, momentarily blinded, and waited for her vision to clear. After a few seconds she could see Sherlock stretched out on his back in the bed to her left.

"Sherlock?" she whispered and stepped farther into the room.

He was asleep, still fully clothed in his trousers, shirt, suit jacket, even his shoes, but despite what he was wearing, he looked comfortable. There was a peacefulness on his face that just wasn't there otherwise and she didn't want to wake him.

She searched his room as quietly and quickly as she could but there was no sign of his phone. She turned back to the sleeping figure and she didn't know why it even occurred to her that it would be anywhere but on his person.

Bracing a knee on the bed, Alex leaned over and carefully lifted one side of his blazer. She slid her other hand into the inside pocket, a surge of triumph coursing through her when it closed over the warm plastic.

But her triumph quickly turned to fright.

As she began to pull her hand away Sherlock's eyes flew open. With lightning speed, his hand clamped down on her wrist and tugged her closer. His other hand closed over her throat and squeezed.

Tears came to her eyes as her airway was restricted and she scraped with her free hand, her fingers digging into the fist locked, vice-like, around her neck.

She stared down at him but his expression was vacant, eyes focused somewhere behind her.

With a jolt, she realized he was still asleep. It was all reaction.

His grip tightened and Alex felt herself getting light headed.

"Shlock don…" she managed to croak, relief flooding through her when his grip began to loosen. Something shifted and his expression changed to one of surprise as his eyes slowly began to focus on her.

"What are you doing here?" His tone was accusatory but he seemed to realize he still had his hand wrapped around her throat and let it drop to his chest.

"Getting bloody well choked apparently!" Alex rasped when she could speak again, fingers rubbing gingerly at her throat.

He didn't look the least bit apologetic as he released her wrist and sat up.

"What are you doing here?" he repeated seriously and her eyes widened.

In her alarm, she'd almost forgotten.

"There's a fire in one of the flats across the street! I don't have a phone…"

In a blink he was up and out of the room. By the time Alexandra had the sense to follow he was already at the window. He saw flames licking out of the windows on the top floor, a steady stream of black smoke funneling into the sky.

When he turned there was a gleam in his eyes, like the images of the fire had somehow superimposed themselves over his pupils.

"Finally!"

Before she could protest he dashed past her again and she followed, close on his heels.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

"Across the street. Call 999."

"What? Sherlock no! Are you insane? You cannot go over there!" She jogged to keep up as he raced down the stairs.

"It's more beneficial if I can examine the crime scene while it's still fresh," he called back over his shoulder.

"But it's not a crime scene yet! It's still a crime! Maybe not even that, it could just be an accident."

He turned abruptly and Alex skidded to a halt to avoid running into him.

"How did you know?"

"What?"

"How did you know? What made you look out the window?"

"I… there was a noise. Something on the window… a tapping."

He gave her a look that said he suspected as much. "Accident? Don't be an idiot."

He threw open the door, letting in a gust of heated air and the putrid smell of smoke, and Alex grabbed his arm.

"Sherlock, don't do this…"

He turned in the doorway and stared at her before pointedly dropping his gaze. His eyes bored into the small spot where her hand met his arm until she let go.

"Sherlock…"

"Call 999," he repeated, "then Lestrade. In that order."

Before she could say anything else he was sprinting across the street and into the building.

Alex stepped, still barefoot, onto the street and the odd combination of heat in the air and cold snow beneath her sent a chill up her spine. For the first time, she realized she wasn't alone. The street was full of people. She recognized the old man with the face and the old lady with the dog and some others she'd seen entering and exiting the building, and silently thanked the inventor of the smoke detector.

There were far too many people on the street that she knew at least one of them had to have already called 999, but she still dialed the number anyway, ignoring the tremor in her hand as she raised the phone to her ear. While it rang her eyes scanned the street and she raked her unoccupied hand through her hair nervously.

"Shit, shit, shit… pick up!" she mumbled and turned her head, a shift in the crowd catching her attention. She could see Carrow's car clearly, in it's usual spot, but paled when her eyes fell on the driver's side door. It was standing open for no reason and the police officer was nowhere in sight.

She felt nauseous suddenly and the hairs on her neck stood at attention.

Something was wrong.

If she'd been in a better frame of mind she would have chided herself for that thought.

Of course there was something wrong. She could see the evidence of that in the blaze that nipped at the sky and the worry in the faces around her.

But this was something else, something more… and Sherlock had just run straight into the middle of it.

Sherlock…

"Emergency. Which service do you require?"

Alex didn't hear the operator speak. If she had it might have made her realize that what she was about to do was stupid, dangerous and completely reckless.

But the phone had already fallen from her hand, knocked free as she plunged into the crowd and hurried after the detective…

* * *

**I have no idea what the operator would say if you called 999 but I feel like I've heard that somewhere... **

**As always, thanks for reading and please take the time to leave a review and let me know what you think.**


	27. Chapter 27

**I've had this story planned out since I posted the first chapter and, for the most part, I've stuck to it. Now comes the crisis of confidence that everything is actually going to come together, seem plausible, and make sense. We should all cross our fingers now...**

**Many thanks to itsbeautiful9, purpleflames, Bookwormiie, Gollum4077, 88dragon06, Aimee, laced-with-fire, TheDoctorsMistress, House Calls, visitor, MORE, LolaWants, Nooooooo, janinaalicja, San, Shedaisies, Littlefoot the Warrior, G.D. Beans, PennyParrish, SarahS, and Xoxo! **

**Chapter 27:**

* * *

Nothing can prepare you for what it's like inside a burning building. Few ever have the chance to find out and if they do, they don't live to tell about it. You can see it in a movie or on the news. You can read about it. But it can never compare to the real thing. To actually being there. All your senses are assaulted and you're blinded by the smoke. You inhale and taste soot. You can hear the crackle and pop of the flames from every direction, the walls creaking, light bulbs bursting in their sockets. The smoke around you is superheated and feels like hot coals against your skin. And the smell… god the smell! It's sharp and bitter as it chokes you. And if you're lucky enough to survive it lingers for days, clinging to your skin no matter how hard you scrub. A constant reminder of things lost.

She almost turned back twice.

The door still hung open, presumably from when Sherlock entered, and even as she approached she could feel the heat. Once inside it was almost unbearable, a heavy weight pressing down and urging her back. She remembered the way the flames licked at her skin before, the burns and the blisters, and she almost lost her nerve right there, not ten steps into the building.

But no, Sherlock was inside and even if she could manage to push her own feelings aside, she'd be damned if she was going to let anyone else die because of her.

Alex covered her mouth with her hand and moved into the room. The smoke was thick but not completely overwhelming and she knew the fire must have started somewhere above her, on an upper floor, and hadn't spread to the bottom yet. It hovered in patches, obscuring her vision, and bathing the room in oddly shaped shadows.

"Sherlock?" she called out loudly, struggling to be heard over the groan of the structure, but there was no reply.

Alex took another hesitant step forward, searching the room for signs of the tall man. It was larger than 221, with a wide staircase set against the right wall, and looked more like a lobby than a simple entranceway. While she stood there, trying to swallow around the lump of dread in her throat, the lights flickered three times and threatened to go out.

"Sherlock, where are you?" she mumbled under her breath and moved to the staircase. She had to hurry now. If the electricity shorted she'd be virtually trapped, stumbling in the darkness. She peered up to the next floor where the smoke was thicker and just knew that's where he'd gone. She tried shouting up the stairs but wasn't surprised when, once again, there was no response. Mentally cursing Sherlock and his penchant for danger, she climbed the stairs on shaky legs. At the top she could barely see and immediately started choking on the smoke. In her panic she almost turned back again, but no… she'd come this far.

Without thinking, she dropped to the carpeted ground where the air was less dense and forced herself to take slow even breaths. It was the sort of information they beat into your head in primary school; get low and get out. She almost smiled when she realized she was smart enough to do one but apparently not the other. Of course, if she had any common sense at all she wouldn't have set foot in the building in the first place.

The further she crawled down the hallway the darker it got until she couldn't see more than an arms length before her. The smoke made her eyes sting and she clamped them shut, groping her way along with one hand pressed firmly to the warm baseboard.

Every instinct told her not to breathe as she crept forward but she had to, and with every breath her chest hurt more. She didn't dare try to call out again, not when the threat of choking on the heavy smoke was so real. She had to trust that the idiot would head straight for the source of the fire…

Something sharp sliced at Alex's hand and she gasped, letting in a small amount of smoke. She coughed violently but quickly snapped her mouth shut. She braced herself with one hand and brought the other so close to her face that her eyes had trouble focusing. Wedged in the plump part of her palm, just below her thumb, was a small piece of glass.

She pulled it out with a wince and cautiously swept her knuckles over the carpet in front of her, searching for more of the offending fragments. Sure enough, the hallway was littered with the tiny shards and she hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. If she continued she was going to cut up her bare legs and hands and she had no idea how far the glass went. She tried to reason her way through, to think what Sherlock had done when he came this way, but the toxic smoke was making her dizzy.

Just as she was ready to say, "the hell with it," and barrel through the glass mine field, she felt something ghost over her calf. It was the faintest brush above her ankle but she froze instantly, afraid to turn her head even though she knew she wouldn't be able to see anything anyway.

She stayed still for a moment, listening to her heart pounding and the eerie rustling of the walls, before lowering her head as close to the carpet as she could.

"Sherlock?"

As soon as she'd whispered his name she realized how ridiculous it was. She could barely hear herself over the cacophony the fire produced. He'd never be able to hear her.

With a quick shake of the head she convinced herself she'd imagined the soft graze on the back of her leg and continued her slow crawl, doing her best to ignore the tiny stabs of the glass.

In a matter of seconds she was over the worst of it and kept following the wall on her left. She could feel the air getting hotter as she crawled on hands and knees and opened her eyes to slits. She was surprised to see a faint orange glow illuminating the black smoke and knew she must be getting close to actual fire now.

But where was Sherlock?

He couldn't possibly have gone any farther. The heat was already verging on deadly and she felt ready to combust. No, unless he were somehow impervious to having his skin peal away from the bone, that was it. She was going to have to turn around. She felt ready to pass out from the fumes anyway and wouldn't be help to anyone then. In fact, she might just pass out and not wake up again.

That unpleasant thought helped to clear her head and she began to slowly turn, maneuvering herself in the other direction.

Then she heard it. A single furtive footfall close behind her.

It was loud enough to get her attention and out of place among the noises that had been invading her ears since she entered the building. Foreign. And yet still quiet enough that her mind could be playing tricks on her.

Please, please let it be the mind playing tricks…

A clammy hand wrapped around her ankle and she knew it wasn't in her head.

Alex screamed and felt her lungs fill with smoke, cutting the shriek off halfway and making her gag. The hand on her leg tightened and tugged sharply, forcing her to her stomach. Then she was moving, sliding backwards over the rough carpet.

She kicked her legs frantically, beating them against the floor in a way that was sure to leave them bruised, and tried to throw the hand off. Luckily, both the hand and her leg were slick with sweat from the heat (and a thicker liquid that was probably blood) and the grip loosened and slipped away.

As soon as she was free she rolled to her back and kicked up with both feet. They connected with something that felt suspiciously like a nose and she heard a grunt from somewhere above her.

Fear and adrenaline had her on her feet in a matter of seconds. She felt something brush against her and jerked away, running blindly down the hallway, praying she was going in the right direction. She pushed her arms out in front of her in a haphazard attempt to keep from running in to anything in the narrow corridor.

The sharp sting of glass on her bare feet was a sudden revelation. She welcomed the pain. It meant she was that much closer to the way out.

Somewhere in the back of her mind was the reason she was there in the first place; to find Sherlock and drag him out before the building burnt down around them. But it had been eclipsed, pushed away by an overwhelming urge to flee.

To be honest, she was surprised it took that long to set in.

Running away was her default, a sort of self preservation, and it had kept her safe in more ways than one. She'd run from her parents. She'd run from Sherlock. Eventually she ran from the drugs. Alex had stopped running when she met Charlie but, if Sherlock was right and recent events had something to do with her late husband, she was running from him now, in a way…

Her outstretched arms didn't stop her from colliding with something suddenly and she fell back, what little air she had driven from her lungs. She remained still for a moment, stunned and gasping, before scrambling backwards. A hand reached down before she got far and fisted in the collar of her night shirt. She struggled against the grasp as she was hoisted up and pulled forward. The smoke obscured her vision until their faces were close enough to bump noses, and she found herself staring at the eyes of a surprised and very irritated Sherlock Holmes.

Despite his obvious annoyance, she was flooded with relief.

She tried to tell him there was another person inside but "Sher…" was all she managed before starting to cough again. He pressed his lips together in a thin line and shook his head.

He began moving, quick even steps as though he could see, and Alex followed. She would have anyway but he didn't give her much of a choice; he hadn't uncurled his fingers from the fabric of her shirt.

It felt strange, letting her hands hang passively at her sides while Sherlock led her, and she brought her left hand up to grip his wrist.

He stopped a few moments later and moved closer, their hands pressed between them.

"Stairs," he cautioned, so close his lips brushed her ear as he spoke and she shuddered.

He released her collar finally and slid his hand down her arm to tightly grasp her own.

The smoke was thinner on the ground floor but Alex didn't feel like she could breath again until they were both outside. She stumbled forward and fell to her knees on the snow dusted street and Sherlock released her hand. She looked up at him as she gulped in air, trying to purge the smoke from her lungs. His curly hair was matted to his head with sweat, skin and clothes streaked with black soot. She raised her own arm in front of her face and saw the same. When she looked up again he was gone.

Alex jumped to her feet in a panic and saw him moving quickly back to the building. She started to shout for him to stop but a hand gripped her shoulder lightly and she started. She turned to find a young man in uniform watching her with concern and noted, for the first time, that the crowd had been pushed back, replaced with emergency vehicles, firemen, police, and a few paramedics.

She shook off the man's grip and swung around, visibly relaxing when a burly fireman stopped Sherlock from reentering the building. He didn't look happy about it.

Half an hour later the fire was out and an eerie stillness had settled over the street. Sherlock and Alexandra sat next to each other on the edge of the ambulance. They'd been poked and prodded and made to wear oxygen masks for almost twenty minutes. The paramedics had cleaned and bandaged the deeper scrapes on Alex's hands and legs but, for the most part, they were both still covered in the inky remnants of the fire.

She'd never wanted a shower more than she did at that moment.

Without the heat from the fire, the night air was freezing (the long sleep shirt did little to help) and one of the paramedics had given her a surprisingly thick blanket. She tucked it tight around her and watched Lestrade approach from across the street, before speaking quietly to Sherlock.

"There was someone else in there."

"I know," he responded quickly, eyes focused on the man rapidly advancing.

Lestrade stopped in front of them and crossed his arms. "I hear both of you morons refused to go to the hospital," the DI spoke sharply, a quiet anger in his voice that Alex hadn't heard before.

They both just stared at him blandly and Lestrade sighed.

"Fine. Tell me what happened."

As Alex listened to Sherlock's extremely abbreviated recount (she saw the fire, woke him, he went in, she followed - she didn't know why he left out the noise at her window or the other person) her eyes wandered over the block of flats.

The majority of the building was brick and it had helped to contain the fire. Very little damage showed from the outside. The only evidence Alex could see was a few busted out windows on the top floor, black stains fanning out around them.

Her eyes dropped to the building's entrance as Sherlock stopped speaking. Two stretchers were being wheeled out onto the pavement and her chest tightened painfully.

"Who were they?" Sherlock asked.

The DI glanced over his shoulder and sighed again. When he turned back he looked older somehow.

"One was…"

"Officer Carrow," Alex interrupted quietly and Lestrade's eyes closed for a moment.

"Yes."

"And the other?"

"Well… this is where it gets really strange… the other body is Michael O'Brien. Formerly Brian Dannelly."

Alex jerked like she'd been slapped, sure she must have misheard. She glanced at Sherlock but he looked equally as stunned, mouth in the shape of an 'o' as he gaped at Lestrade. After only a few seconds he snapped out of it and leapt to his feet.

"Whoa, where do you think you're going?" the DI said briskly, moving to block Sherlock.

"To examine the crime scene and the bodies," he answered matter-of-factly and frowned when Lestrade shook his head.

"I don't think so."

"I…"

"No, not today," he continued forcefully. "I think you've inhaled enough toxic fumes for now. Go home."

He began walking away before Sherlock could argue again but Alex stopped him.

"Wait. Did either of them look like they'd been kicked? Maybe in the face?"

"Not that I can tell. That would be a question for the medical examiner…"

"Or I could tell you now…"

"Why, did you kick someone?" Lestrade asked, pointedly ignoring Sherlock.

She nodded and the DI rubbed his forehead wearily.

"Alright look… get cleaned up, get some sleep. I'll look into it and come back tomorrow and then you can tell me everything he," he jerked his head at the other man, "_forgot_ to mention. Oh, and I think this is yours."

The DI handed Sherlock his phone, a long crack running vertically across the screen, and he accepted it wordlessly.

After Lestrade walked off again, Alex left the blanket in the ambulance and followed Sherlock back up to the flat stiffly. She'd expected him to argue more than he had, to demand that he be allowed back in the building. Or at least to yell at her for dropping his phone. But he seemed surprisingly calm.

While he remained detached, Alex felt ready to burst with the weight of the new information she'd been given.

Brian was dead.

Brian. Was. Dead.

It pushed everything else that had happened in the last few hours straight out of her head, but the emotion churning in her stomach felt alien to her. She couldn't name it. All she knew was how she _didn't_ feel. She wasn't sad or happy. She didn't feel relief or regret. It certainly wasn't anger or guilt. But it was there nonetheless, bristling under the surface and setting her teeth on edge.

She followed Sherlock into the kitchen and watched as he began to fiddle with one of his experiments on the table. She lost track of how long she stood there, silently staring at his back, before speaking.

"What was he doing there?"

"Who?" Sherlock responded nonchalantly but she could see the slight tensing of his shoulders.

"You know who. Why was he there?"

"I don't care," he answered quietly.

"I do…"

He whipped around to face her suddenly, a sneer on his lips, and she faltered.

"No one deserves to die like that Sherlock."

"You're wrong."

She opened her mouth to argue but he continued sarcastically.

"Eight years later and you're still defending him. What a surprise."

Alex stared at him with wide eyes, taken aback by his sudden anger.

"I'm not defending him, I just…"

He took three quick, violent steps towards her and she fell silent.

"He hit you, he tried to rape you! But you let everyone believe I attacked him, unprovoked!" he snarled and she moved back without thinking.

"I know… I was scared Sherlock. Scared to tell them the truth. Scared of what Brian would do if I did. Do you think I don't know it was wrong? Everyday I regretted it."

"But then you left without saying anything! You disappeared!"

_You could have found me if you wanted_, she thought. "How could I face you after that?"

Sherlock cried out and threw his hands up in frustration.

"Why did you even go with him that night? You could have refused. You _should_ have refused. Had you learned nothing? Are all women so dense?"

Alex visibly winced at the insult and felt her own anger begin to stir.

"I went with Brian to tell him to leave me alone!"

Sherlock scoffed. "Can't you hear how idiotic that sounds?"

"I'm serious! I wanted to tell him that it wasn't going to happen again because I only wanted you! Because I loved you!"

The look of shock on Sherlock's face mirrored her own.

She'd never be able to say who reached for who first, but suddenly his lips were on hers.

It was desperate and angry, all pushing and pulling, tongues moving restlessly against each other, fingers gripping so tightly there'd be bruises. Each one fighting for dominance.

Until Alexandra found herself pushed roughly into the counter, it's sharp edge digging into her back painfully, and she gasped.

Sherlock's lips stilled and hovered over hers for a moment before pulling back completely. When he let go of her hips and tried to back away she grabbed his hands.

"Don't you dare…"

She dragged him back until she had to tilt her head uncomfortably to see his face. He leaned forward and she let herself tumble headlong into a rush of sensation as his lips found hers again.

He slowly swept his tongue inside her mouth and she moved her hands to his shoulders, pushing the dirty suit jacket down his arms. They broke apart, just long enough for her to draw in a ragged breath and whisper his name and long enough for him to pull the jacket off his wrists, letting it drop to the floor behind him.

When they came together again his mouth moved to her neck, just below her jaw, and he found her skin tasted like ashes. Like smoke and fire.

"'Even the fruits of victory would be ashes in our mouths,'" he murmured against her skin.

"Hmmm?"

He didn't answer. Instead his hands slid down her sides as she walked them backwards, towards the stairs to John's room. He let them rest at the end of her sleep shirt, the tips of his fingers touching the bare skin of her thighs.

Her own hands hastily untucked his shirt and made quick work of the buttons, slipping her hands beneath the fabric and flexing her fingers against his back.

Sherlock shuddered and returned to her mouth with a fervor. He curled his fingers under the edge of her shirt and raised it to her waist, one hand falling to the newly exposed skin. She sighed into his mouth and broke away to look at him.

His pale skin was flushed and his lips were swollen. Dilated eyes bored into her own.

She knew she looked the same.

Alex raised her arms above her head and Sherlock lifted the filthy nightgown up and over, tossing it to the floor. He took a second to remove his unbuttoned shirt (almost ripping it when it caught at his wrists) before drawing her closer and pulling her body flush against his with an arm around her waist. She rubbed against him with a smile and he made a noise deep in his throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl.

They kissed again, more frantically, and his hands slid over the soft cotton covering her arse. He lifted until she could wrap her legs around his waist and she was pressed exactly where they both wanted.

Alex moaned into his mouth at the feel of him through their remaining clothing and he rested his head on her shoulder in an attempt to compose himself. When their eyes met again she felt a tingle go up her spine.

"Bedroom..."

* * *

**Hmmm, John didn't walk in on them that time...**

**Please review!**


	28. Chapter 28

**I'm finally back with an update... thanks for your patience.**

**Many thanks to Anea the Morwinyon, pen2paper87, CumberbatchesGirl, janinaalicja, brit14, kie1993, itsbeautiful9, purpleflames, LolaWants, laced-with-fire, Gollum4077, TheDoctorsMistress, Zacha, 88dragon06, Aimee, coconuts-are-funny27, House Calls, PennyParrish, and MORE for reviewing the last chapter! **

**Chapter 28:**

* * *

She felt herself begin to wake before her eyes actually opened, pulled out of her dreams by the cloying scent of smoke. She was so warm, so comfortable, that she tried to push it away, fought to stay asleep, to stay where it was safe.

With a contented sigh, she pressed herself into the warm presence at her back and pulled the arm closer, cuddling it against her stomach…

The arm?

Alexandra's eyes snapped open, no longer able to combat her body in its need to wake. As the last vestiges of sleep faded, the events of the night rushed into her mind and she found herself tucked against Sherlock's side. She could vaguely tell they were in John's double bed, bodies still streaked black where it had failed to rub off on the sheets, but rational thought was overcome by the sensation of her naked body touching his in a hundred, a thousand points of skin against skin. She could feel every one of them.

His body was still, save the slow rise and fall of his chest, and Alex let herself relax against him, thankful he was still asleep. It gave her time to define and deal with the odd tingle coursing through her. It was either panic or excitement, she decided eventually. Most likely a combination of the two.

Defining it proved much easier than making it go away and, as she struggled to ignore it, Alex felt Sherlock's long fingers flex against her stomach.

Reluctantly, she glanced over her shoulder and found him watching her, propped up on one arm and very much awake.

"We didn't use protection."

Whatever she'd expected him to say, that certainly wasn't it. She blinked at him in disbelief.

"Thanks Sherlock, I thought it was amazing too."

He frowned at her obvious sarcasm as she wiggled out from beneath his arm and rolled onto her side to face him.

"I'm clean," she said finally. "I am!" she added after a particularly skeptical look. "Are_ you_?"

"Of course."

"Then what's the problem? I don't remember you caring before…"

Oh, right. She felt like a proper idiot. Of course he would think of that now.

"I can't have children Sherlock, Charlie and I tried," she said slowly and with rehearsed calm.

All the tension dropped from his long frame and Sherlock flopped onto his back with a sigh.

"Well I'm glad you find that so relieving," she snapped quietly but made no move to get up.

Sherlock inclined his head towards her curiously. "Did you want children?"

She opened her mouth only to close it again quickly. In all honesty she'd never even thought about it until Charlie brought it up and then, only after a few months of trying, she was told it was impossible.

Impossible. That one word had made her so angry.

"Not until the choice was taken away," she answered after a long moment. "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Want children."

"No."

"Ah," she responded easily. It's what she expected. In fact, she would have been shocked if he'd answered in the affirmative.

"That doesn't surprise you?" he asked, returning to his side to better gauge her reaction.

"No, should it?" Alex reached out and absently began tracing her finger across his collarbone.

"Isn't that what normal people do," he began, eyes dropping to her hand, "aspire to perpetuate the species?"

"I guess," she smiled, "but you're hardly normal Sherlock."

He grinned and slid his hand up her arm where it rested above the blanket, brushing the pads of his fingers over the bumpy remains of her burns, almost completely faded.

Alex waited for him to speak again, to steer the conversation towards the inevitable. Not what happened between them (that was a conversation neither were ready to have) but the fire and its victims. When he failed to do so she captured his hand between both of her own and rested it between them.

"Sherlock…"

"No," he interrupted quickly, "I don't know what he was doing there."

"But…"

"Nor do I know the identity of the other person inside."

Alex sighed in frustration and pillowed her head against her arm. "Then tell me what you do know."

He hesitated and she could almost see him shuffling things around in the computer that was his mind, deciding what he could tell her and what was better left out.

"I know," he began finally, "that someone inside the MET is feeding your attacker information. Most likely one of the officers assigned to guard you."

Her eyes widened in surprise and she unconsciously shifted closer. "Not…"

"Carrow? No."

"Then how?"

"There's a chance they don't even know they are… oh." He stopped and comprehension filled his eyes. "You're asking how I know this?" Alex nodded. "Did you never wonder why Lestrade said it would take him a week to find a place for you? I know London's police force are a moronic and dilatory lot, but even they aren't that slow. No, I told Lestrade to stall you."

"Why?"

"Because I've suspected there was a mole for sometime now. He has information you can only get with someone on the inside. I hoped when word got out they were moving you your arsonist would panic and show himself."

When he finished she could see how pleased he was by the expression on his face and she stared at him with a mounting horror.

"Sherlock, people died!"

"Collateral damage."

Alex inhaled sharply, but her brain refused to process his words. "You could have died!"

"Irrelevant."

"I could have died!"

"You should never have gone in!" he snarled suddenly, abandoning his otherwise placid demeanor.

Alex stared at him for a long moment before speaking quietly. "I only went in to get you out."

"Why?"

"Why?" she echoed incredulously. Wasn't it obvious?

"Yes why. What did you expect to accomplish, asphyxiation? If so, then Brava indeed."

"Sherlock…" she tried to interrupt but he shook his head and ploughed on.

"All you managed to do was hurt yourself and almost get attacked. You didn't even find me, I found you! Don't try to save me when you can't even save yourself!"

Tension filled what little space there was between them but Alex couldn't move. Sherlock's eyes pierced her own and she was held in place despite the anger coiling in her stomach.

"Fuck you Sherlock," she hissed softly.

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly as the next words rushed out of his mouth. "You already did."

It was the innocent way he said it that made her laugh. There was no spite in his words. They weren't aimed to hurt, merely stating fact, and once she'd gotten over the shock, she couldn't stop laughing.

He regarded her warily as her mirth increased and she buried her face in the pillow. After a few long seconds she was able to get herself under control and met his eyes again, a smile firmly in place.

"You're right. You're always right… that's really irritating by the way… I went bumbling in after you and I shouldn't have. But I think I should get points for intent. I was worried and didn't want to see you get hurt. Besides, it worked didn't it?"

"I was going to go back in."

"I know, but luckily for everyone, someone was there to stop you. Now," Alex scooted closer and brushed her hand over his cheek, "this isn't the conversation I imagine when I'm lying next to you naked. In fact, there isn't any talking when I think about it, so…"

The strain was still there, in the rigidness of his shoulders and the tightness of her mouth as she kissed him. She half expected him to push her away and resume their argument and she was pleasantly surprised when his lips began moving beneath her own and his body relaxed against the bed.

It was a lazy, slow embrace, despite the serious words they'd shared before, and neither seemed in a hurry to end it. Alex was more than happy to forget reality for awhile, to pretend everything was normal, even if she knew Sherlock was incapable of normal. At that moment in her mind they were just a regular couple enjoying an early morning snog…

But it would never be that easy.

When a loud series of angry knocks issued from the door she knew at once that John was on the other side. Her only surprise was it took him that long to interrupt. She remembered suddenly that they were in his room and even with the thin sunlight filtering through the curtains she could see the bed was a mess. For one fleeting moment she wondered if they had locked the door, but it was driven from her head when she saw the amusement twinkling in Sherlock's eyes.

"Sherlock!" John barked in annoyance. Get dressed and get your bloody arse downstairs now!"

He paused and Alex held her breath, waiting to see if he was going to acknowledge her as well.

"Lestrade's here," he added after a long moment, voice quieter and somewhat unsure.

She waited until she could hear his soft footsteps on the stairs and glanced at Sherlock again.

"You better go."

He mumbled his agreement but before he could move she flattened her hands against his bare chest and pushed him to his back, attacking his mouth like it might be the last chance she'd get. His hands came up, clasping her head between them as their lips crashed together. He opened her mouth and she parted her lips willingly to meet his tongue. A small moan bubbled up from deep inside and she shifted, pressing every inch of herself along him, feeling his firm muscles, taut and ready. Her hips ground instinctively against him and were rewarded by a desperate hardness, a force seeking her out between his legs.

It was enough to give her pause and she pulled back to see his face. He was flushed and breathing heavily, curious eyes fixed on her own.

After a long moment in which neither moved, Sherlock rolled his hips slowly, the evidence of his arousal pushing against her stomach as though to say, "see what you did? Now do something about it."

Alex smiled slightly, allowing herself a moment to consider leaving him in this state. Or even better still, to lay back and watch him deal with it on his own…

Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, turned on by her own thoughts and the man beneath her. She kissed him chastely before pressing her mouth to his ear.

"I guess I can't let you go downstairs like this." She felt Sherlock shudder in response and placed a kiss just below his ear. "It would probably give John a heart attack," she added absently and continued down his neck to his chest, trailing hot, wet lips down his body until they reached their goal…

* * *

Sherlock quickly dressed in the clothes that were fortunate enough to make it upstairs (pants, trousers, socks, shoes) and, with one last glance at Alexandra still curled comfortably under the duvet, shut the door behind him.

He found John seated in the kitchen. The Doctor had turned the chair to face the staircase and crossed his arms against his chest while he waited, mouth set in a firm line. Sherlock hesitated in the archway, more out of curiosity that embarrassment.

Silence stretched between them and a quick scan of the room showed that John had retrieved his shirt and jacket, as well as Alex's night shirt, from the floor and hung them over the back of a chair. If there'd been any doubt in his mind (and there seldom ever was) that his friend didn't know exactly what he and Alexandra had been up to, the placement of their soiled clothing would have removed it.

"I don't know which is worse," John began slowly, "that you had sex in my bed or that you did it covered in filth."

Sherlock smirked and entered the room, snagging his shirt from the chair and slipping it on. He didn't know what gave him away but, as he did up the buttons, John's expression went from uncomfortable to painfully so in the blink of an eye.

"Oh god! You did it again didn't you? In the time it took me to come back down and you to follow, you had sex again!"

"I don't know John," he responded casually, "is fellatio considered sex these days?"

John blanched and started coughing as though he were choking on something. Sherlock could only assume it was his own air since he hadn't been drinking anything. He arched an eyebrow and leaned against the counter, waiting for him to stop. After a moment he realized the Doctor's gasps for air had turned into hysterical laughter and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

When John finished there were tears in his eyes and a wide smile across his face. He tried to school his features back to stern and disapproving but couldn't get it quite right. Instead he jerked his head towards the living room.

Sherlock followed it and found Lestrade standing near the sofa, looking rather shell-shocked from what he'd overheard. He was trying very hard not to gape and failing miserably. Sherlock excused himself before the DI could speak and slipped into the washroom. He splashed cold water on his face and swiped at his skin with a flannel. He could only hope he was removing the black traces. As though by some unspoken agreement with himself, he refused to look in the mirror. He didn't need to, he knew how he must appear; lips swollen, eyes heavy, body relaxed and sated… He had no desire to see the proof of his weakness. Proof that he'd let his body take over and succumbed to it's baser needs.

He gave up after awhile and rested against the sink, knowing he wouldn't truly be clean until he could shower properly.

His eyes narrowed as he emerged from the small room. John and Lestrade were standing close together, heads tilted down as they spoke in hushed tones. Sherlock cleared his throat noisily and they jumped.

"If you two are finished gossiping like women, I'd like to see the crime scene now."

They had the decency to look embarrassed as they followed him out of the flat and across the street. The scene was more subdued than the night before. No ambulances or gawking crowd, just a handful of scattered police cars. He paid them little heed as he entered the building.

Once inside it was like he was everywhere at once.

From a dent in the wall he knew where the fire started. Untouched patches of floor told him where both Brian and Carrow had been found. A quick glance at the burn patterns around the area and he knew one of them had been carried in. The other had been dragged from the far end of the hallway.

He took samples of the ash, the walls, the carpet, the curtains - any fabric or surface he could get his hands on - to test for volatile hydrocarbons later. He had John collect bits of glass from the carpet on the off chance that he'd find blood that didn't belong to Alex. But still it wasn't enough because, like water, fire molds and shapes its surroundings. If left unchecked it destroys everything in its path. It doesn't make exceptions for evidence, much to Sherlock's chagrin.

The familiar sight of a word formed through the burns finally stopped him. It was on the third floor, a short wall separating two flats, and seemed perfectly placed to taunt him.

"Devil," Sherlock whispered as he stared up at the curving letters. The word was more hastily made than the others and each letter looked scrawled into the scorched wood.

"Shame, truth, devil," he whispered again, the words running over and over in his mind - shame, truth, devil - shame, truth, devil - shame, truth, devil…

"But what does it mean!"

"How should I know, you're the genius," Lestrade spoke and Sherlock started. He'd forgotten he and John were still behind him.

"It could be a multitude of things. He could be referring to himself, some delusion that he's actually the fallen angel. It could be a derogatory statement about Alexandra. The word devil comes from the Greek _diabolos_, roughly translated 'slanderer'. That could easily tie into the other two messages, but he could be referencing something completely different. Or…" he trailed off, glancing at the word again and running a hand through his hair.

"Or…" John prompted when he didn't continue.

"Or it could be completely irrelevant!" Sherlock snapped, turning his back on the wall. "What I can tell you is this; Carrow was lured into the building before the fire started. He was killed there," he pointed, "and then dragged ten meters to end there. Brian was already dead or unconscious before he was brought in. I'll need to see the body to know which."

"I figured," Lestrade nodded. "Molly's already waiting for us."

"You go ahead, we'll be there shortly." Sherlock turned to study the word again and John shrugged at the DI.

After he left, John stood next to the detective, clasping his hands behind his back to mirror his friend. He watched him from the corner of his eye but Sherlock was completely absorbed. His mouth moved silently, in time with his rapid fire thoughts, and even if it weren't so quick John was rubbish at reading lips. After a few minutes John gave up trying and went for the more direct approach.

"What are you thinking?"

"Too many things John," Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes. "Too many things."

* * *

**As always, I like to teeter on the far edge of the 'T' rating...**

**Molly finally makes an appearance next chapter! Is it just me or do you kind of love her after the last episode?**

**Alright then... assuming everything goes to plan there will be 4 to 5 more chapters plus an epilogue. That's not set in stone though. Things happen.**

**Please take the time to leave a review!**


	29. Chapter 29

**Sorry this chapter took so long. I'd honestly hoped to be done with the entire story by now but my car broke down and I've had to take another job to pay for the repairs. I have almost no free time so you'll have to be patient for the time being, I'm sorry.**

**Many thanks to purpleflames, kie1993, itsbeautiful9, C'estMoiLiz, Bookwormiie, TheDoctorsMistress, LolaWants, 88dragon06, Aimee, Drottningu, PresidentTheAwesome, SerbiaTakesCntrl, PennyParrish, MORE, House Calls, Lili009, KhAel, OfCakeAndIceCream, and She Who Must Not Be Named! It's for you that I chose to write and not sleep.**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 29**

* * *

The blackened bodies of Brian Dannelly and Officer Carrow were waiting when they arrived at Bart's. Molly had pulled the gurneys to the center of the morgue, various medical instruments scattered around them like garnish and any notes she'd already made sorted and neatly set on a nearby table.

Unfortunately, her careful presentation was wasted on Sherlock.

The detective acknowledged Molly with a nod before stepping around her for a closer look at the corpses. John smiled at her apologetically as her own faltered and he inwardly admonished his friend. He knew Sherlock was aware of Doctor Hooper's crush and the callous way he often treated her was a point of contention between them. Once, after several pints and a bottle of wine, John had asked him to be nicer to Molly but Sherlock had argued that if he were to change his behavior now it would only serve to further her attachment, ultimately disappointing her even more in the end. It had made a lot of sense at the time, with beer and three glasses of pinot noir warming his belly, but now John saw it for what it was: cowardice.

Well maybe not cowardice exactly, John thought. He didn't think Sherlock was afraid to tell Molly that it was never going to happen, he just didn't want to. A part of him even seemed to like the attention, especially when it afforded him unrestricted access to fresh corpses.

John watched her hover near Sherlock and absently wondered if anyone had told the woman about Alex. He assumed that would eventually fall to him, like everything else.

"If I'd known you were going to stand there daydreaming I'd have left you at home."

He blinked twice as Sherlock's voice broke his reverie and found his friend staring at him with a slightly amused but still annoyed smirk.

"Ah, there you are. Take a look at this."

He gestured to one of the bodies and John walked over curiously, bending at the waist to see where Sherlock's hand pointed.

From shoulder to elbow, barely visible beneath the burns, were four long furrows in Carrow's skin. His back straightened and turned to find Sherlock watching him expectantly.

"Well?"

John sighed. "Why do you insist on doing this? You know whatever I'm going to say will already have occurred to you and then some. It's a waste of time."

"It's no such thing," Sherlock scoffed. "It's beneficial to us both."

"How?"

"It helps you hone your mind and see things in greater detail."

"And for you? What benefit is it for you, other than stroking your ego?"

Sherlock smiled. "It reassures me. It's comforting to know that the person with which I spend the majority of my time isn't a complete berk."

John stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if he was serious.

"Fine," he huffed finally. "The scratches look like they're from someone's fingernails. They are fairly deep, as far as scratches go, and close together so probably made by a woman."

"Interesting. Why?"

"Because a woman's nails would most likely be longer, easier to break the skin, and her hand would be smaller so…" he trailed off and gestured vaguely, waiting for Sherlock to confirm or deny his analysis.

"That's very good John."

"But?"

"But you failed to see that the woman used her right hand, she'd had a manicure two days prior to inflicting the wounds, and her movements were deliberate," Sherlock announced with a flourish and John frowned.

"What do you mean deliberate?" Lestrade asked as he joined them from across the room. "It would have to be deliberate wouldn't it?"

"I mean her only intention wasn't to harm him, she meant to make those marks and to make them noticeable." He rolled his eyes at the confusion on the DI's face. "If she'd been fighting him off they wouldn't be so straight or so deep. Someone held him still so she could do it and I'm sure if you scrape Brian's nails for skin fragments you'll find Carrow's DNA."

"So…"

"Yes." Sherlock pulled the small retractable magnifying glass from his pocket and examined the cuts again. "They are trying to make it appear as though Brian killed him, rather poorly I might add."

"They?" John interjected curiously.

"Yes 'they'. Even if we don't learn anything else it's not a complete loss. Now we know at least two people are involved; one man and one woman. Though I suspect the woman to a lesser degree. Probably a relative of the man. Wife or sister most likely. Possibly a girlfriend."

John stared down at the recently deceased Officer Carrow thoughtfully. "If they are trying to frame Brian, that'd be why Tim Cox was taken from the hospital where he worked."

"Mmmm," Sherlock agreed and fell silent for a long moment.

"Molly!" he barked suddenly, loud enough that both John and Lestrade started. "Where was he struck? The back of the head?" Without waiting for an answer, Sherlock thrust his hand beneath the head, searching for the tell-tell knot.

"Gloves!" Molly squeaked but she was too late, he was already moving to the other body.

As Sherlock approached Brian he was filled with a strange sort of satisfaction. He'd wished the man dead on more than one occasion and he'd even indulged in a few fantasies where he was the one that made it so. Now, looking down at the fire ravaged body, he could almost believe he had.

"Sherlock?"

He turned his head to find John at his side, watching him with an uneasy expression.

"Yes John?"

"Do you know you're smiling?" he asked quietly.

"Not good?"

"I should think not."

Sherlock let his face go blank and walked around the gurney, once again retrieving his pocket magnifying glass. After what seemed an unusually cursory examination it disappeared back into his coat and he turned back to the others.

"He was dead before the fire started."

"How can you tell?" Lestrade asked.

"Blisters."

"Okay, what about them?"

"There's no fluid in them. If they'd been made while alive they'd be filled with protein. And he was struck here, here and here," he pointed to each in turn. "Again, if he'd been alive for the fire the surrounding skin would be inflamed. It's not."

"Is that all?"

Sherlock looked at Molly. "Was there any carbon monoxide in his blood?" He barely gave her time to shake her head before continuing. He already knew the answer. "The fire didn't kill him Lestrade."

"Then what did?" John spoke up from his left.

"Whatever he was injected with. Oh, did I forget to mention there's a small needle puncture at the base of his neck? I suppose it is difficult to see through the damaged epidermis."

Molly nodded her head energetically, ignoring Sherlock's smug tone. "His blood had a high level of potassium chloride."

"That can kill you?" Lestrade asked her but it was John that answered.

"It's normally used to treat hypokalemia but if it isn't diluted or if it's administered to quickly it can kill you. It's the 'lethal' component of lethal injection. Basically, it gives you a heart attack."

The DI scribbled something in his notepad. "Let me get this straight," he began quickly. "He was injected with a drug in such a high dose it gave him a heart attack and killed him. Then someone brought his body to Baker Street?" Sherlock nodded slowly, looking incredibly bored all of the sudden, and he continued. "And Carrow went in when the fire started but was struck on the back of the head and then a mysterious woman scratched his arm?" he finished, his voice laced with disbelief.

"Yes."

Lestrade sighed. "Fine, I'll have someone ask around, see if we can figure out where and when Brian was taken."

"Don't bother. He was abducted while entering or leaving the hospital three days ago," Sherlock spoke casually.

The DI stared at him for a long moment, his mouth set in a hard line.

"Should I even ask how you know that?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the implication. "He's obviously been dead for three days, his metal nametag is partially melted into his chest, and if I'd killed him you wouldn't have found the body."

Lestrade pressed his fingers against his head and stroked the throbbing vein in his temple. He shoved the notepad in his pocket and left soon after, half-heartedly pretending he'd received an urgent text. He offered to drop them at Baker Street but Sherlock declined.

An hour later he was seated on an uncomfortable stool in the lab, deep in thought as he stared at the wall and waited for the DNA synthesizer to finish. He'd spent the better part of the hour rupturing the cells of a small amount of blood they'd found on a shard of glass in order to separate the DNA from the other cellular components. Now he had nothing to do but wait for the machine to spit out the short tandem repeats and hopefully there'd be a match on record.

But he wasn't holding his breath.

Sherlock sighed and briefly glanced at Molly and John across the room. The ever enthusiastic pathologist had offered to help, much to his annoyance, and was now busy measuring carbon atoms in search of any traces of accelerant. He'd collected the samples himself in an odd display of optimism but deep down he knew it was useless. Nothing had turned up at the other locations and he doubted this one would be any different. Not that he planned to tell Molly that. If it kept her busy and out of his hair then his effort wouldn't be for naught.

Despite his best attempts, his thoughts turned to Alexandra. They were easy to avoid when he was working; he'd perfected the art of focusing his mind long ago, training it to remove all irrelevant information when it wasn't needed. But at that moment, eyes fixated on the nondescript wall, it seemed unavoidable.

He blamed biology and the familiar tingle he'd awoken to. It had been a long time, some might say too long, since he'd allowed his body any kind of release and apparently it was taking it's revenge by tormenting him with a constant reminder of the past twelve hours. It was an ache he couldn't describe and not only in his groin where he most expected it but somewhere higher, lodged in his chest. He knew that, more than anything, was where his confusion and worry stemmed from.

What did she want?

Or more importantly, what did _he_ want?

He'd managed to convince himself over the past eight years that he felt nothing for her, save the occasional bout of anger and loathing. He thought he'd forgotten her. Now he wasn't so sure.

He felt eyes on him from the other side of the room and looked up sharply. He met John's concerned gaze and held it for a moment. But when the Doctor took the first step towards him Sherlock snapped awake and shook his head firmly, silently willing John to leave him be for now. He knew his friend still had questions but he wasn't ready to admit that, perhaps in this instance, he didn't have any answers.

John stopped mid-step and his expression hardened, though Sherlock was relieved to see it wasn't in anger. Out of the corner of his eye he saw John mumble something to Molly and put on his coat. After one more quick glance in Sherlock's direction, he left.

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the hard table as a headache threatened to overwhelm him.

He and Alex and been thrown together twice; once out of coincidence and once out of necessity. Neither of them would be in their current situation is she hadn't been attacked. They both should have gone on as they were, ignorant of the other, but instead they'd been forced together again.

Even as the thought occurred to him he knew it wasn't entirely true. No one forced him to allow her into his home. If he'd put his foot down at the beginning John would have caved, of that he was certain. But instead he'd sat passively by and let it happen. It prompted the question, if she really tried to leave would he stop her?

His head began pounding in earnest and he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't know, and that, above all else, was the most disturbing. If there was anything he was ever sure of, it was his own mind.

With sudden determination, Sherlock pushed himself up, until his back was straight, and crossed his arms. There was nothing for it. He wasn't going to figure this out right now so he'd focus on a problem he knew he could solve.

Shame. Truth. Devil.

He knew it was important somehow. Why else would someone have taken the time to meticulously ensure each word was left in plain view, large and easy to find?

He ran over them in his mind, as he'd done numerous times since that morning, fervently searching for a connection.

Shame, truth, devil - shame, truth, devil - shame, truth, devil - shame, truth, devil…

"What?"

Sherlock jumped and swiveled on his stool. Molly stood close to him and until then he hadn't realized he'd spoken out loud.

"Yes Molly?"

"What were you saying?"

He hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Shame, truth, devil."

"What's that?"

"Messages left at three of the crime scenes."

"But what does it mean?" she asked quietly and Sherlock had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

"That's what I'm trying to deduce."

He turned away, hoping she'd take the hint and go back to what she was doing. He could still feel her near him after a few minutes though. He opened his mouth to snap at her but when he looked up her thoughtful expression gave him pause.

"It could be… I mean, it's possible," she began slowly, "that if you switch the first two words it could be Shakespeare."

Sherlock blinked at her. "What?"

"If you, um, make it 'truth, shame, devil' it might be referencing a line from Henry IV… no Henry V… no wait… Henry IV part 2 … or is it part 1..."

"Molly!"

"Sorry, sorry! It's not important…"

"No Molly, what's the line?"

"Right, sorry… it's something like, 'Oh while you live, tell truth and shame the devil."

She continued to chatter about a school production but he tuned her out and his back straightened even more. He'd seen that recently. Very recently. Inscribed on the base of a small statuette. Lestrade had found part of it, more specifically one of the 'wings', in the air vent. But that was before the last word had been revealed and he hadn't thought…

Sherlock stood up abruptly, pushing Molly back as he reached for his coat.

"Molly, you are brilliant," he mumbled absently, slightly annoyed when she blushed and beamed at him, obviously pleased with herself despite her confusion.

"Don't get cocky Molly. I would have gotten there eventually."

He brushed past her on the way to the door, phone already in hand and a text to John halfway completed.

Sherlock knew he'd pitch a fit if he wasn't filled in before he confronted Alexandra…

* * *

**Oh dear, what has Sherlock so keyed up?**

**It would make my year if you left a review!**


	30. Chapter 30

**I'm working hard to get this story finished. Thanks for your patience. I hope you enjoy the new chapter.**

**Many thanks to itsbeautiful9, bookwormiie, Sky Writes, purpleflames, kie1993, Amelli-Kara, PresidentTheAwesome, KhAeL, Drottingu, laced-with-fire, TheDoctorsMistress, MORE, LolaWants, Nora, Lili009, Aimee, 88dragon06, Sarah, Agent007Tomato, Ahsilaa, SerbiaTakesCntrl, and noraa.**

**Chapter 30:**

* * *

Sherlock stared down at his mobile and fought the urge to grin. He could hear John's determined voice as though he were there, speaking the terse words of his text:

**Wait. For. Me.**

**JW**

Sherlock was halfway up the stairs when his phone vibrated again and he paused, long legs straddling two steps. He cursed and retrieved it from his coat. This time he couldn't stop a smirk from spreading over his face.

**Oh God, you're already there aren't you?**

**JW**

He knew the message he'd left John had been cryptic at best, but he didn't expect this level of concerned alarm from his friend. What did he think Sherlock was going to do when he found her?

He shook his head and glanced at the phone, surprised to see another text from John. He hadn't felt the phone pulse again.

**I'm close. Twenty minutes. Please don't do something you'll regret.**

**JW**

Ah. He understood now.

John wasn't worried he'd lash out and hurt Alexandra, he was worried he'd say or do something to push her away.

Sherlock made a face and hastily turned off the phone.

John knew him better than anyone, save perhaps his brother, but the idea that Sherlock would ever consider something so mundane a priority made him question just how well his friend really knew him.

"Sherlock?"

A slight tensing of the shoulders was the only indication he'd been startled and he pivoted on the stairs, mobile still clutched in his hand.

Alex stood on the bottom landing, arms full of recently cleaned sheets. Seeing her hair still wet from the shower fleetingly reminded Sherlock that he was still in desperate need of one. After carefully shifting the laundry to one arm, she brushed a heavy lock of water-darkened hair off her forehead and regarded him curiously.

"You washed John's sheets," Sherlock spoke finally and she smiled.

"It seemed like the thing to do."

"You didn't go out." It wasn't a question. Sherlock had recognized two plainclothes policemen and one policewoman on the street, not counting the officer following him. They would have been on the door the moment she opened it. Lestrade wasn't taking any chances now.

"No, Mrs. Hudson let me use hers."

Alex's smile faltered under his steady gaze. Just as she began to speak he turned on his heels and bounded up the stairs, leaving her with no choice but to follow.

When she entered the flat he was halfway to his room and she deposited the sheets on the sofa, hesitating only a moment, before quickening her steps and trailing after him. She leaned against his door frame and watched him quietly search his crowded bookshelf, moving with alarming economy, sweeping over titles with eyes only. He bent at the waist and her gaze traveled the long curve of his back to his head where a mess of unruly curls framed his face.

Alex felt her stomach clench pleasantly.

God he was gorgeous.

He had been gorgeous eight years ago but now… she didn't know how to describe it.

One finger traced the spine of a tall book and she shivered, imagining that same finger mapping the bumps and ridges of her own spine, a flashback of the previous night.

God, _last night_.

The memory threatened to overwhelm her and she closed her eyes just as Sherlock crouched down, digging out a large volume that was buried under a pile of dusty books on the bottom shelf. She blinked in confusion when she opened them again and found him in front of her, holding out the book for her to see.

"The Complete Works of Shakespeare? Sherlock, what…"

"'Oh while you live, tell truth and shame the devil.'" He watched as a flicker of recognition passed over her face. "Have you heard it?"

"Yes," she admitted quietly. "Charlie used to say it if he caught someone in a lie. All his friends did too. It was some sort of inside joke. When I asked him about it he just said it was from a play they did at uni. I don't know what it was."

"Henry IV."

Alex shrugged. "If you say so. What is this about?"

"There was another message on the wall. 'Devil.' So that makes…"

"'Shame, truth and devil...'" Her eyes widened suddenly. "I remember where I've seen that small pewter thing! It was on a piece of bric-a-brac in Charles' office, a gift from a friend I think. An angel with that quote on the base!"

Sherlock nodded. "I know, I've seen it."

"You've seen it?"

"Actually, I'm the one that broke it."

Alex stared at him in bewilderment. "What?"

"It was near the window. I may have miscalculated when I broke into your husbands office and knocked it from the desk."

She ignored his sheepish expression. "But it was in the vent."

"I know. They want me to know that they know I was there."

"Why Sherlock? Who wants you to know?"

He stared at her for a long moment and didn't answer. Alex sighed and shook her head wearily. She stepped around him, entering his room for the first time since she'd stayed at Baker Street. Her head swam and she dropped heavily to the edge of the bed. In the back of her mind she wished the first time on Sherlock's bed was under more desirable circumstances, but in reality she'd only sat because she was worried if she didn't she'd fall down.

"But why that message? What does it mean?"

"I think it's rather straightforward," he said, turning to face her. "Because it's personal, familiar to you, though not as much as they thought apparently. And it implies that you should tell the truth. That you're hiding something, which I've known for a long time. What are you hiding Alex?"

She looked up at him in surprise. When she didn't answer he continued. "Did you know the hospital where your husband spent his last days recently had a fire?" He leaned against the wall casually and didn't wait for a response. "Half their records were destroyed. All of his. Most of _yours_ survived though."

Alex looked away as pain flicked across her face.

"Bruises. Lacerations. Broken ribs. Concussions. Bone fractures," Sherlock spoke softly. "Is that why you tried to kill him?"

He expected her to at least try and deny it so when she buried her head in her hands, squeezing her eyes shut against a flood of tears and her whole body slowly began to shake in an effort to suppress her sobs, he froze. The acerbic comment he'd prepared stuck in his throat and his back tensed against the wall.

Normally he'd soldier through, ignoring the crying woman's distress and continue to push and prod until he had the information he wanted, but now he hadn't the faintest idea how to proceed. Something was keeping him from his usual methods and Sherlock tried to convince himself that it was John's texts that gave him pause but the strange ache in his chest made him think otherwise.

Still, he didn't dare move or speak until she'd regained control lest he be tricked into consoling her with a tender embrace or sympathetic words. The very thought made him shudder. He didn't do _comfort_.

Sherlock remained still and averted his eyes, searching for something to occupy his time while he waited. Fortunately he didn't have to do so for long.

He heard John's familiar footsteps approaching before he felt the warm hand grasp his forearm and pull him from the room. Once outside, John sighed and Sherlock was surprised at the level of irritation and disapproval he could fit into one small exhalation.

"You never listen do you? If you'd waited for me we probably could have avoided that." He gestured to where the bedroom door stood open a few meters away.

"Oh I'm sorry," Sherlock responded with quiet sarcasm, absently rubbing his arm where the Doctor had gripped. "Do you know of a more tactful way to ask someone why they tried to murder their husband?"

"Well I…" John stopped. His mouth opened and closed slowly and Sherlock was reminded of a case some years ago that involved him getting up close and personal with a host of rainbow trout. He quickly shook off the mental image and waited for John to fight through the shock and confusion.

"In your own time John…" He was never much for waiting.

"You can't… can't be serious?" John sputtered.

"I assure you, I am perfectly serious."

"But your text just said you were going to question her about something involving her husband," he responded hopelessly.

"I'd say this falls under that category, wouldn't you?"

John fell silent for a long moment as though considering it, but shook his head vehemently from side to side when he spoke again.

"You must be mistaken, I don't believe she would do that."

"It's true."

John turned towards the small voice at his back and frowned. Her eyes were red and swollen and he could see shiny tracks where the tears had run down her cheeks.

"No, I refuse to believe you killed Charles Claymore."

Alexandra winced at the name. "But that doesn't mean I didn't try."

John stared at her searchingly before swinging his head to focus on Sherlock. He volleyed between them for a moment and then spoke. "Someone needs to explain. Now."

Alex's chin dipped in a dazed almost nod and walked around John to sit on the sofa, waiting for them to join her. After sharing a look with Sherlock, John sat on the other end, sparing a fleeting glance at the freshly laundered sheets before pushing them out of the way. Sherlock opted to sit in the shorter man's usual place, and sank into the worn armchair gracefully.

"Okay, we're all comfortable… what is going on?" John asked. "Alex, you said your husband had cancer."

"He did. In the end, that's what killed him."

"Then what reason would you have to try?"

"Isn't it obvious John?" Sherlock spoke lazily, sinking further into the cushions and stretching his legs out in front of him. "She was abused."

"Yes, thank you Sherlock," he snapped at his flat mate. "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to hear it from her."

He turned back to Alex in time to see her blush before her face was hidden behind small hands.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," John added gently.

"Everyone says that, but it's one of those 'easier said than done' things I think," she said quietly, voice muffled. She exhaled heavily after several seconds and uncovered her face, pushing her hair back in the process.

"Alright." Alex pulled her legs up, tucking her knees under her chin, and stared at the carpet as she continued. "At the start, Charlie was great. Everything was great. And for the most part, everything stayed that way. But even so, after we were married and started living together I began to see a different side. It was little things at first, like I wouldn't want to go out with his friends or forget to tell him someone had called, and he would get so angry." She shook her head as though she still couldn't believe it. "He was so different then, not the man I'd met…"

"Get to the point," Sherlock interrupted sharply. "When did it manifest into physical violence?"

Alex flinched and closed her eyes but she could still hear John's "Jesus Sherlock!"

"It's alright John," she said quietly and took a deep breath. "About seven months into the marriage. We were supposed to go to his parents for dinner but he'd come home in a foul mood and I made the mistake of suggesting we make up and excuse and stay in… We weren't even really arguing but he hit me so hard I blacked out. He must have panicked too, because I woke up in the hospital."

Alex shrugged, a tiny, embarrassed jerk of her shoulders that was easy to miss. "Nothing really. I think it's common knowledge now that I used to have a hard time standing up for myself. Anyway, he was mortified and promised it would never happen again. He spent the next few months making it up to me. I'd almost forgotten until he came home angry again." Alex paused and her expression turned thoughtful. "God, it's such a cliché isn't it? The man hits the woman and she just takes it, all the while making excuses for him. It's so easy to see now. It wasn't then."

"Did you ever go to the police?" John asked.

"No," Alex shook her head. "I didn't think anyone would believe me, or if they did, I didn't think they'd care. Charlie was well respected and he knew everyone."

"So you decided to take matters into your own hands," Sherlock prompted.

"Not really. It was a nurse at the hospital that first gave me the idea." Both men stared at her questioningly so she went on. "She put two and two together when I kept showing up. When I came in with a broken arm she waited until we were alone and confronted me about it. I didn't say anything to her but I didn't deny it either. Apparently she'd gone through something similar. She said if I refused to get help I should _handle_ it myself."

"She encouraged you to kill him?" John gaped at her in astonishment.

"Not in so many words, but yeah, she did. Before I left she slipped a small vial of something into my hand. The label had been removed but I knew what it was for. I remember thinking she was crazy, but that didn't stop me from taking it."

"Did you use it?"

"Not right away. I hid it in the house for months and did my best to avoid A&E."

She was quiet for a moment, eyes sliding out of focus as she remembered. When Sherlock spoke, his quiet voice startled her.

"What made you finally use it?"

Alex felt a shiver creep up her spine and closed her eyes. "I don't want to talk about it."

Sherlock began to protest but John stopped him.

"That's fine, isn't it Sherlock?" He looked at him pointedly until an arched eyebrow signaled his acquiescence.

"Of course," he responded easily but no one was fooled.

"Anyway," Alex continued weakly, "I only managed a few drops in his tea before I lost my nerve. I thought about it a lot over the next few days and eventually I flushed what was left. I couldn't go through with it. Then the cancer happened and I didn't have to."

Sherlock's expression turned serious. "Did he suspect anything?"

"I don't know. If he did he didn't let on." She laughed suddenly, surprised at the numb, humorless noise that quickly turned into a grimace. "Maybe he was too busy dying to notice…sorry… god, I don't know why I said that."

Another awkward silence fell over the room and Alex shifted uncomfortably.

It was too much. That last week with Charlie had been hell. Constantly juggling her anguish, guilt, relief, and guilt over her relief with the harsh reality of what she'd been prepared to do had almost made her run. But she'd stayed with him in the end, unwilling to sacrifice all of the good memories despite everything.

And now Sherlock and John knew what she'd almost done. No matter how much they claimed to understand her actions, it would always be hanging over her head. Poor John looked like someone had kicked his puppy and Sherlock… well Sherlock seemed mostly unfazed, but she could see his mind working, putting together and analyzing what she'd told him.

"How did you know?" she asked suddenly, surprised it hadn't occurred to her before.

Sherlock regarded her calmly for a moment before answering. "Several things. The destruction of Mr. Claymore's medical records intrigued me so I inquired after yours. That, coupled with what I know of your history, aroused my suspicions. In the absence of any records I went to your husband's oncologist."

"Doctor Gregory?"

"Yes. He remembered him and was more than willing to discuss his case with a medical student." The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. "Most of it was useless but he did remark how unusual it was to find an almost untraceable amount of morphine in his system. That's what your nurse gave you, by the way. It can stay in the blood up to five days. Gregory hadn't prescribed it, you see, so he assumed Charles had obtained it illegally to help with the pain. I rightly thought otherwise. It's lethal in high doses. Euthanasia is still very much against the law but many sympathetic doctors use morphine to achieve the desired result. It's much easier to claim it was an accident that way. Of course, taken orally it's no where near as potent as when it's administered intravenously. I suspect you could have fed him the entire bottle and it wouldn't have done much more than make him sick."

Alex gaped at him. "You're saying…"

"That the nurse was an idiot? Yes. Especially since she was arrested for stealing medications two months later. It just serves to illustrate my complete lack of faith in the medical profession." Sherlock smiled as his friend shot him an annoyed look. "Not you John."

John opened his mouth to retort but his phone rang, cutting him off mid-breath. He glanced at the display and stood.

"It's Sarah. I should…" He waved his hand to finish and left the room.

Sherlock's smile disappeared as he watched him go and turned back to the young woman sitting across from him.

"There is one thing I don't understand."

Hey eyes widened somewhat. "Okay…"

"When you speak of him, it always seems like you cared for him."

She stared at him for a moment, choosing her words with care. "I did care for him Sherlock. I loved him. A part of me still does."

"How could you possibly?" he asked incredulously.

"I don't know. Love isn't that simple. You can't just turn it on and off to fit the situation, at least I can't." She paused and smiled wearily. "I know this though; I seem to have a habit of falling in love with men I have no business falling in love with."

They held each others gazes for several seconds, until John returned and Sherlock looked down and away. When he looked up again his eyes were dark and unreadable.

John took his seat and looked from one to the other curiously.

"What did Sarah want?"

"She's asked me to take an extra shift at the surgery. I told her that depends."

"On?"

"On what we need to do now."

Alex looked taken aback. "You still want to help me?"

"You were acting in self defense, no matter how misguided, and that's all I'm going to say about it," he said quickly and she felt a rush of affection for the man. "So, what now?"

"Now," Sherlock began slowly, "I need to talk to my brother, but first, I think a shower's in order."

"What do you need Mycroft for?"

"I want the contents of Mr. Claymore's office sent here. It still seemed relatively intact when I was there and, in light of recent developments, I think I may have missed something."

Alex gathered up the sheets and left Sherlock to explain the significance of the wing and the quote to John. Once she'd finished remaking the bed she went back downstairs. It seemed John had left and Sherlock was nowhere to be found, but she could hear the shower running.

She settled into her previous spot on the sofa to wait, doing her best to quiet the thoughts and memories running rampant in her head. She'd just managed to find something mildly distracting on the television when the running water stopped. She pressed a button on the remote and the screen went dark. Alex turned to see Sherlock emerge from the bathroom, accompanied by a puff of steam and clad only in a towel.

He hesitated when he saw her watching but she had difficulty tearing her eyes from the last persistent beads of water on his chest.

"Feel better?" she asked after he cleared his throat impatiently and she forced herself to look up.

"Much."

He stared at her a moment before heading for his room and, without thinking, she followed, stopping to hover in the doorway. She watched him retrieve clean clothes and lay them on the bed.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmmm?"

The towel dropped as he reached for his pants and Alex found herself momentarily distracted, wondering if she should turn around. No, he knew she was there and it wasn't like she'd never seen him naked. It had been less than twenty four hours since the last time.

"Do you think, if we'd met under different circumstances, something would have happened?"

He let out an exasperated huff and began working his trousers up his legs. "That is a pointless question. We can't go back in time and we can no longer meet for the first time."

"Humor me…"

Sherlock sighed and started buttoning his shirt and Alex almost mourned the loss of skin.

"I think if I hadn't been so… vulnerable," he spat in disgust, "at the time, I wouldn't have looked at you twice." He seemed to realize what he'd said all at once and swung around to face her. "_Don't_ be offended. You know you wouldn't have looked at me again either."

He continued to dress, mentally bracing himself for her anger. When nothing happened he allowed the tension to ease from his shoulders.

"I'm not offended," she said finally. "For what it's worth, I think you're right."

Mumbling unintelligibly, Sherlock sat on the bed to put on his shoes.

"I'm sorry," she spoke abruptly.

Now fully dressed, he stood in front of her with his arms at his sides. "What for?"

She hesitated, unsure what had prompted her apology. "I don't really know. Is 'everything' too generic an answer?"

She expected him to roll his eyes or at least grumble something under his breath, so when he tipped her chin up and leaned down to capture her bottom lip between his own instead, she was too dumbfounded to react. He took control of the kiss, pulling her closer and coaxing her mouth open with his tongue, and had her melting against him in less than thirty seconds. It was hard and hot and _perfect_, and Alex whimpered into his mouth. All too soon, he pulled out of the kiss and pressed his forehead against hers.

"I need to call Mycroft," he panted and she shivered as his breath ghosted over her skin.

"Uh huh."

They stayed sill, taking a moment to compose themselves. When he started to pull away completely Alex's hand tightened on his shoulder.

"I'm glad you know," she breathed out shakily.

"Of what?"

"That I looked again."

Sherlock inhaled sharply and closed his eyes. He opened them again almost instantly and released her, nodding once before moving to the bed.

"Sherlock what…?"

"Shut the door."

His voice seemed impossibly deeper and she blinked as his hands worked on the buttons of his shirt, removing it this time.

"Wait, what…?"

"I want you. Shut the door."

She didn't question him a third time

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**


	31. Chapter 31

**I'm so sorry for the long wait. I don't have any excuses other than being really busy, but I'm trying my best to get this story finished. Thanks for your patience.**

**Many thanks to purpleflames, 88dragon06, itsbeautiful9, Lili009, PresidentTheAwesome, KhAeL, chaynah1, PennyParrish, Agent009Tomato, LolaWants, tessalation, House Calls, Aimee, MORE, anonymous, cara, and chaosrachel for reviewing.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 31:**

* * *

"How many more?"

"This is the last," John replied with a grunt and lowered the heavy box to the floor.

Alex regarded the boxes scattered about the room warily. She counted twelve in total, each varying in size and weight. It had been less than twenty-four hours since Sherlock had contacted his brother, but then she knew Mycroft worked fast.

"I can't believe this was all still in Charlie's office."

"Mr. Smythe wouldn't let anyone touch it after his friend died," Sherlock interjected, joining them in the main room. "He left Mr. Claymore's office exactly as it was, except for a few things his parents took of course… sentiment…" He paused and shook his head, as though he found the very idea preposterous. "He'd even had a memorial plaque mounted on the door."

"I told you he was loved," Alex said softly, eyes trained on the cardboard containers.

"How did Mycroft convince him to part with it then?" John asked and the other man shot him a smug look.

"My brother can be very persuasive."

After a few seconds of silence Alex spoke again. "So where do we start?"

"With the box nearest you," Sherlock answered distractedly, already elbow deep in his own.

"Okay… And what are we looking for exactly?"

Sherlock looked up sharply, searching her expression for signs that she was serious. When he saw that she was he rolled his eyes.

"A clue, obviously." He began pulling large stacks of paper from the carton in front of him and Alex nodded.

"Right, obviously… what kind of clue?"

He looked up again, brow furrowed in annoyance and a scathing retort ready, but he hesitated when he saw her smile slightly.

"You're being deliberately obtuse to provoke me."

She shrugged. "Maybe a bit."

John cleared his throat to remind them both that he was still here. "Still, she has a point Sherlock. We need parameters. What kind of clue?"

"I don't know," he snapped finally. "I'll know it when I see it. Just look for anything that feels out of place… or purposely placed," he added, almost as an afterthought.

He returned to the task at hand with an air of finality, effectively putting an end to the conversation. After sharing a brief, irritated look with John, Alex settled on the floor next to the sofa and reached for the closest box.

What remained of the afternoon passed in relative silence, save the light rustle of papers, the occasional overturned box, or the frequent protests of Alexandra's empty stomach. She did her best to ignore it and dig through a stack of papers detailing Smythe Industries complicated insurance policy. Neither Sherlock or John appeared to be having any difficulty focusing after skipping lunch and she didn't want to call attention to herself by stopping to eat. It almost felt like a weakness, especially when the men were showing no signs of hunger.

Still, she could feel Sherlock's annoyed stare every time her stomach contracted and gurgled, like the noise alone was enough to jar him from his thoughts. A short while later it seemed he could no longer take it and he jumped to his feet, startling the others in the process. Alex watched with wide eyes as he strode into the kitchen. He quickly returned with a small tin of biscuits Mrs. Hudson had purchased earlier in the week. He dropped them into her lap unceremoniously, with only a muttered, "do us all a favor," before returning to his previous place near his bedroom door.

She chewed as quietly as she could.

With her hunger temporarily sated, Alex threw herself into the task with forced indifference. Like she wasn't going through her dead husbands things… her husband that she had loved despite everything… that had abused her…

She worked hard to push those thoughts aside and examine the items clinically.

Luckily, most of the boxes near her were filled with sheet after sheet of financial reports and other legal papers that made little to no sense to her. Easily dismissed. Occasionally one would have a note attached, written in Charlie's own hand, and she would feel a sharp pain in her chest but they were always business related as well. Nothing personal and nothing that seemed like it would be of use to Sherlock. Of course she still had no idea what she was looking for or what Sherlock would find useful. All in all, she didn't feel like she was making much progress.

By the end of her fourth Alex was convinced Mycroft's people had simply upended each filing cabinet into a box with little regard to neatness or organization. She hated to admit she expected a certain level of perfection from anything associated with Sherlock's brother. It gave her an odd sort of satisfaction to find out that wasn't always the case.

Alexandra stretched, slowly rotating her shoulders forward and then back, before looking up for the first time in what felt like hours. She was surprised to find the room significantly darkened, only lit by the dim rays of grey sunlight that were still fighting their way through the window. Even more surprising was the fact that John was no longer seated in the armchair to her right. Had she been so engrossed in what she was doing that she hadn't heard him move or explain his departure? She didn't think so.

Sherlock was still sat near his bedroom, back resting against the closed door, with his head down and a large stack of papers resting on his knees. A larger pile, along with some random office supplies, sat on the carpet next to him.

Before Alex could inquire after John's absence, he spoke without looking up.

"He's gone to Sarah's. We weren't making any headway so I told him not to cancel."

For a moment, she wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. "That's… unexpectedly kind of you."

Sherlock snorted softly but still didn't look up. "He was fidgeting. It was irritating."

Alex smiled to herself and stood up to stretch more thoroughly. Yes, that definitely made more sense.

"So have you found anything at all?" she asked as she switched on the table lamp and watched the orange glow chase away the grey.

Sherlock shook his head and stood up, the papers that had previously been balanced on his knees joining the mess on the floor.

"Not yet. It seems your husband was meticulous in his record keeping. Unfortunately old invoices and petty cash receipts aren't what I'm looking for."

"I thought you didn't know what you were looking for?"

Sherlock ignored her, the slight tightening of his mouth the only indication he'd heard her, and turned to root through another box. She waited a full minute for him to address her again and when he didn't, Alex sighed and sat heavily on the sofa, upsetting one of the smaller boxes in the process.

She cursed quietly and dropped to her knees on the rough carpet. She quickly retrieved the odds and ends that had escaped from the carton, pausing to examine each briefly before setting them to the side. A stapler, note pad, small paperweight with the Smythe logo embedded on it. Nothing important. She'd seen a few items roll beneath the sofa and absently drug her hand across the floor under it. Her hand closed around something hard and cool and she paused hesitantly before dislodging it.

Alex's breath hitched slightly as the object was revealed. It was smaller than she remembered, less than the length of her hand, and completely missing it's right wing, but there was no mistaking what it was.

She glanced up at Sherlock curiously and wondered if he'd actually been looking for the small statue despite his nonchalance. His back was too her, shoulders hunched as he read through more of the seemingly endless paperwork and he gave no sign he'd seen what she'd found.

Her attention turned back to the object in her hand and she absently ran a finger over the rugged edge where the pewter wing had broken off. Was there something there she couldn't see? It was nothing more than a trinket really. Trivial. Not even heavy enough to be useful as a paperweight. Sure it was old but certainly not one of a kind. Sherlock had even said there would have been thousands made. And yet she remembered it had been dear to Charles. A gift from a friend, he'd said. Her eyes traveled over the words on its base and her mouth moved, silently forming them. She turned it over in her hands and examined it carefully but it was no use; it didn't seem in the least remarkable to her.

Sherlock had said the wing was a warning. A sort of "we know who you are, where you've been, and where you live. And look how easy it was to disrupt your world."

The big question was, if Sherlock had accidentally knocked something else over, would they have used a broken piece of that instead? It seemed unlikely, given the painstakingly placed words at the crime scenes…

"Did you know your face scrunches up when you force your brain into a task it isn't capable of completing? It doesn't become you."

Alex looked up sharply. Sherlock had abandoned the mass of papers in favor of towering over her, his face blank. He held out his right hand, palm towards the ceiling, and looked at the small statue pointedly.

She blinked at him for a moment but handed it over without comment. There was a time when she wouldn't have been able to let his insult slide but now she knew it was pointless to even mention it. Sherlock didn't see it as an insult anyway. To him, it was merely stating fact. Besides, there were much crueler ways he could have said it and if she called him out every time he implied he was smarter than her they'd have time for little else. It was true, after all.  
Once it was in his hand it was all he could see. He crossed the room in three quick steps and retrieved his magnifying glass from his coat. She stared at him for a long minute, amazed at the intensity and focus with which he examined the tiny figurine. Had he ever looked at another person that way? Probably not, she thought. He'd certainly never looked at her that way and he most likely never would.

The calmness that accompanied that thought surprised her. She expected anger, denial, or at the very least, sadness. Not this dazed resignation. But no, she didn't care in the slightest that Sherlock would never love her the way she loved him. She wanted him anyway.

The man in question's head titled up suddenly and there eyes met. There was no doubt in her mind that he knew exactly what she'd been thinking and Alex felt her cheeks warm.

Sherlock's lips pressed together in a disapproving manner and he looked away, once again absorbed in the small item in his hands.

Alexandra's previous confidence began to waiver. Now she was content to take what ever he gave and just having him near made her happy. But how long until that wasn't enough anymore? How long until she starts to resent always coming second to his work? Or hell, even third, if John's around. She knew she'd never surpass the Doctor in Sherlock's mind.

Or how much longer until he just gets bored? They were only together (if you can even call it that) for a few months a long time ago and the circumstances were less than ideal. Both trapped in a place neither wanted to be with nothing to distract them.

It had all been an accident. A happy accident, but an accident nonetheless. They'd never even had the chance to get tired of each other…

Alex sighed and shook her head. It was no use worrying about it now. They had bigger problems.

She shifted and made to stand, tucking the small box to her with one arm. As she did, the light from the small lamp fell over it and something flickered up at her. A reflection so brief she wasn't sure she hadn't imagined it.

Without thinking, she quickly reached into the box, seeking out the source of the reflection, only to draw it back again with a hiss, a bright red drop of blood on her finger. She slid the offending digit between her lips and into her mouth out of instinct and tried again with her other hand, carefully pushing the shards of broken glass aside. At the bottom of the box she gripped something solid, its texture like wood, and lifted it out.

Her nicked finger fell from her mouth in surprise as she stared at a photograph of she and Charles. It was taken on her wedding day. Not one of the posed, professional photos, but one of the rare candid ones. In the picture she stood in profile, huddled against Charlie's side in her new mother-in-law's hideous wedding dress that she had insisted Alex wear. Further proof that the horrid woman hated her, as far as Alex was concerned. Her husbands body was angled towards her, head tilted down. They were beaming at each other, there was no other word for it, and she clutched the photo tighter as a strange sadness rushed through her.

It should have turned out so differently.

She glanced up at Sherlock again, almost warily, but he seemed oblivious to her presence. Her eyes returned to the photograph and, with the hand not holding the frame, she absently rubbed the pad of her thumb over their smiling faces, noticing too late that she was smearing blood on the glossy surface.

Alexandra cursed under her breath and tried to wipe it away with her shirt, but she only managed to make it worse. In her annoyance she pressed down with more force and the picture slid slightly in the frame, revealing the edge of what appeared to be another photo beneath it.

Her breath caught in her throat and she turned the frame over, mindful of the few jagged pieces of glass that remained intact. She prised the back off easily and slipped the mysterious photograph out, momentarily stunned by what she found.

A woman smiled up at her. Attractive, blond, probably mid-thirties, professionally taken.

But that wasn't what bewildered her.

She _knew _this woman.

Well not technically, she amended, but she certainly knew the photograph.

It was Dr. Madison's wife. The exact same picture that had been on his desk when Alex was at Three Elms.

What the hell was it doing here?

"Um… Sherlock?"

"Hmmm?"

"There's a photo of Dr. Madison's wife."

His head snapped up. "What?"

"Behind a wedding photo that Charlie had in his office was a picture of Madison's wife," she said again, trying poorly to hide the growing alarm in her voice.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes."

"You're sure? You're one hundred percent certain?"

"Sherlock, yes!" she snapped and held it up for him to see. "It's the same one that was on his desk. Do you know how often I messed with it? Turning it around or upside down or just hiding it… I got a good look at it for three months. This is it."

He blinked at her for a moment and then jumped to his feet. He hurried into the kitchen and returned with John's laptop already open, practically falling into an armchair while his fingers clicked away furiously.

"What are you doing?"

"Quiet," he hushed her and she turned her attention back to the photograph, a million questions running through her head.

Like, had Charlie known this woman? And if he did, why did he hide it? Did he know Doctor Madison too? Was the photo always there, just behind the other, or did someone put it there to play with them? Was it all a game?

Her thoughts jumbled together and her head began to hurt. She looked up when the clack-clack of computer keys stopped abruptly. Sherlock was watching her, eyes shiny with excitement.

"Lets find out."

"Find out what?"

"Everything you were just thinking," he answered casually and retrieved his coat from the back of a chair. "Come on."

Alex looked up at him in confusion. "What?"

"Why are you so slow?" Sherlock sighed in exasperation and gripped her arm, pulling her to her feet. "We're leaving."

"What are you going to tell Lestrade's men?" she asked as he bustled her towards the door.

"Nothing they aren't coming."

Alex dug her heels into the carpet, forcing him to stop, and swung around to face him.

"Wait a minute. You called me an idiot for going out on my own before and now you want me to?" she asked incredulously.

"You won't be alone, you'll be with me."

"Oh and that's safer is it?" she said sarcastically. When he ignored her she spoke again. "How do you even expect to get by them?"

Sherlock took a few steps towards the door and pulled out his phone. "That part's easy, if you know the right people." He tapped something into the phone and returned it to his pocket. "Now, are you coming or not?"

"Where!" she exploded. "You've not said where!"

"To get answers. To the home of Geoff and Elaine Madison. That's why Lestrade can't know. He tends to frown on my housebreaking."

Alex gawked at him for what felt like a long time, trying to decide if he was serious. It was always hard to tell with Sherlock.

"What if they're home?" she said finally.

"Then I'll knock on the door. But they're not. They're at the Savoy. Some fundraiser, who can keep track?' he answered absently.

"How can you possibly know that?"

Sherlock gestured to the laptop he'd left in the chair.

"You found that out in the whole minute you were on there?"

He nodded. "That and their address. And it was forty two seconds actually and that's only because John's getting better at choosing his passwords. Now come on."

"Wait Sherlock," she stopped him again. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"Anything worth doing seldom is. Stop arguing."

"But…"

"_Stop arguing_," he repeated more forcefully and moved closer, until she had to tilt her head back to see his face. He ran his hands up her arms, stopping just below her shoulders.

"I thought you wanted answers?" His voice was softer now, deeper, and she could feel his warm breath on her skin.

"I do, but…"

"No more buts." He inched closer and cupped her face in his hands. Their lips pressed together briefly, a quick darting of tongue that hinted at something less chaste. Her eyes had fallen closed and she struggled to open them as he pulled back. She knew exactly what he was doing.

"You're playing me," she spoke softly.

"Is it working?"

"Yes… damn it."

Sherlock grinned and it made his whole face come alive. He stepped back and took her hand, tugging her towards the door.

"Good. Lets go."

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**


	32. Chapter 32

**Hello? Does anyone even remember this story?**

**When I think about the fact that in just a few days time it will be 2 years since I started this and it's not finished yet, all I can do is hang my head in shame. Soon people, soon. **

**Thanks to everyone whos stuck with this, especially those who've been with me from the beginning.**

**Very special thanks to SerbiaTakesCntrl, Yema, itsbeautiful9, purpleflames, PresidentTheAwesome, LolaWants, laced-with-fire, House Calls, Asterisks, chaosrachel, pennyparrish, 88dragon06, Aimee, tesselation, Kat7CA, MORE, X-PoisonCherry-X, Angela, and Pencilx for reviewing.**

**I hope you enjoy.**

**Chapter 32: **

* * *

Apparently, the "right people" were three homeless teenagers who liked to hang around Baker Street. Two boys, one short but with limbs so long it gave him the illusion of being gangly, and the other so nondescript he'd overcompensated by dying his hair a shockingly bright blue. The other teen was a girl, though she did a good job of hiding the fact with her hair cropped close to her head. Her clothes were baggy but cleaner than the boys, from what Alex could see. Granted, she didn't have a very good vantage point, huddled behind Sherlock in the doorway to 221b.

But regardless of how well she could see it, the scene playing out on the street was, for lack of a better word, amusing.

Half obscured by Sherlock's shoulder, Alex could see the blue haired boy climb onto the bonnet of the unmarked cop car, a string of profanities issuing from his mouth. Not to be undone, the other boy shouted something Alex couldn't understand and scrambled up after him. He tackled the boy at the knees and she winced as blue hair hit the windscreen hard. The girl ran towards them. She was sobbing, her face a wet blotchy mess as the boys wrestled on top of the car, and she begged them to stop.

If it was an act, it was a good one.

For the first ten seconds or so the four plainclothes officers didn't move. They just stood there, gaping at the kids in shock. When they finally reacted they did so all at once, and rushed the car together.

Alex didn't see what happened next because Sherlock was tugging on her wrist, pulling her onto the pavement before ducking down a small alleyway. He moved quickly and quietly, and she had to hurry to not be dragged behind him. When they reached the end of the alley he dropped her wrist and stopped.

Alex watched in confusion as he first placed one, then both hands on the side of the building. He smoothed them over the brick in a horizontal line, counting softly under his breath. After a moment he seemed to find what he was looking for and dug his fingers into the mortar around one of the smaller bricks, easily prising it out of the wall. He pulled a few crumpled bills from his pocket and shoved them in the gap before replacing the brick.

"Sherlock, what…?"

"Their payment," he cut her off before she could finish her question.

"But how…?"

Sherlock whirled around to face her. "How did I get them to mobilize so quickly? Really Alex, I don't expect much of you but I didn't think you were a complete moron… It's amazing what a well timed text can accomplish," he said sarcastically. "Now wait here."

He bustled out of the alleyway, arm raised to hail a taxi, leaving Alex to ponder the sad fact that a homeless teenager had a mobile phone and she didn't.

She didn't have time to feel too sorry for herself, however. Sherlock was back in a matter of seconds and ushered her into the rear seat of a waiting car. He didn't speak to the driver but the taxi pulled away from the curb as soon as the door shut. Alex didn't question it, assuming he'd already told the cabbie their destination. Instead she copied Sherlock and turned towards the window, watching the way the street lights lit up what little snow remained. She tried to concentrate on the flats and shops that sped by and not where they were going or what they were about to do, but as the buildings thinned out and were replaced by larger, more stately homes, she found she could no longer be silent.

Sherlock was hurriedly typing something into his mobile when she turned from the window.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Aren't you going to give me some idea of what the plan is before we get there?"

He exhaled loudly without looking up. "Plans are boring," he spoke indifferently. "I much prefer to make one up as I go."

Alex snorted quietly. "Somehow I doubt that."

Sherlock glanced at her briefly, eyes slightly amused, but didn't respond.

"Alright. No plan. Fine," Alex huffed after a long moment. "At least give me an idea of what to expect."

Sherlock made a face, a sort of disgusted pout that screamed 'you're no fun,' and pulled his small, leather bound lock picking kit from his breast pocket.

"We get there. I use these." He gestured with the small tools. "We get in, find what we're looking for and get out."

"But…"

His shoulders jerked violently as he turned towards her. "We're breaking into a residential home, not bloody storming Buckingham Palace!"

"Sherlock!" Alex spat through clenched teeth, her eyes darting to the back of the cab driver's head.

"Although," he continued like he hadn't heard her, "I did draw up several diagrams in my childhood for just such a purpose. You're welcome to peruse those if it will satisfy your ridiculous need for a plan!"

Alex pressed her lips together tightly in an attempt to stifle the angry words building in her throat and regarded him silently. He was turned away from her again, lean body angled towards the window, a few centimeters separating his forehead from the glass.

She couldn't help the way she felt. This constant need for reassurance. For a plan or even a vague outline… anything to calm her nerves. But seeing him pull away so visibly was worse than not knowing and made her chest ache. That sharp pain made her realize she was going to have to do something she wasn't one hundred percent sure she could.

Trust him.

"Fine."

Sherlock spun around quickly, his expression suspicious. "Fine?"

Alex smiled softly. "I honestly don't know whether I should laugh or cry or just generally be terrified most of the time and I haven't since this whole mess started, but... I trust you… so, yeah, it's fine."

Sherlock didn't move, save the slight flexing of his fingers around his phone, but for a few strange seconds his face was an open book. Surprise, joy, distrust, confusion, and something close to reverence laid bare in rapid succession. When the parade of emotions finally ended, however, he was left grimmer than she'd ever seen.

"Some would say you're a fool to trust me," he spoke finally.

Alex paused for a moment, considering his serious words and eyes.

"I very much hope they're wrong."

"So do I," Sherlock agreed quietly.

Without thinking, she moved closer, easily sliding over the smooth seat, until she could take his face between her hands. He remained stiff and unmoving, but allowed her to pull him into a quick kiss, the faintest pressure of lips against lips. As they parted, a muted cough issued from the front seat. They looked forward at the same time to find the cabbie watching them in the rear view mirror.

"This is the address you gave me," the man spoke gruffly, with a muddled accent Alex didn't recognize.

Sherlock looked past Alex and out the window to a large, elegant structure. It sat in the shadow of a large oak and the street lamp barely infiltrated the dense foliage, leaving strange pockets of light on the front of the home.

"I don't suppose," Sherlock began quickly, one hand digging in his coat pocket for his wallet, "there is any chance I could persuade you to wait here for us, despite everything you've just overheard?"

The older man snorted loudly. "Not sodding likely."

"Didn't think so." Sherlock handed him several bills, enough for the fare and a generous tip, and slid out of the taxi. Once they were both safely on the pavement, the car sped off and Alex looked after it warily.

"Do you think he'll call the police?"

"Not unless he wants trouble for himself as well. He's been operating that cab illegally for the past eight months," he answered.

She shook her head and didn't even bother to ask how he'd gleaned that information.

"He could call in an anonymous tip," she suggested instead.

"He won't," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly and darted across the street, putting an end to the brief discussion.

Doctor Madison's home, while big, could by no means be called a mansion. You could fit three of them inside Mycroft's summer home alone. But still, Sherlock knew posh when he saw it.

It was three stories high with large windows and an imposingly sized mahogany door that was framed by two pillars. A small stone path led to the front of the house.

Alex, having followed Sherlock across the street, stood awkwardly next to him, unsure of what to do. He had gone still again, hands deep in his coat pockets as he stared at the house. His eyes were sharp, discerning, as they traveled over the building. Alex expected them to slip around the back of the house, to find another door or window as their point of entry. Something slightly more clandestine. So when Sherlock nodded in satisfaction and walked swiftly up the stone path, in full view of the street, she was confused and remained rooted to the spot.

He didn't notice she wasn't with him until he'd reached the door. He shot her an exasperated look over his shoulder before hunching down to examine the door's lock.

"Are you coming?"  
Alexandra jumped when his deep voice drifted down the path.

"Or do you plan on making that bit of pavement your new home? We passed a nice homeless chap down the street. I'd dare say he'd share his box with you."

Alex scowled but joined him near the house. "What if someone sees?" she snapped half-heartedly.

Without preamble, he fell to his knees in front of the large door.

"This won't take long," he said and she rolled her eyes at the smug confidence in his voice.

He worked quickly, fingers moving with a precision master artists wished they possessed, and Alex was filled with a sudden warmth at the familiar image before her. It was the same position, the same determined look in his eyes as when she'd stumbled upon him in the corridor of Three Elms all those years ago. Only the circumstances were different, though admittedly, not by much – Madison's home instead of his office. That was the first time she'd realized how strangely beautiful he was, the first time she'd felt that spark, when he had pinned her to the door, his hand over her mouth…

Alex blushed and turned away slightly, willing those thoughts away. Their timing couldn't be more inappropriate.

True to his word, Sherlock was on his feet in a matter of seconds.

Even the way he stood, with his hand on the knob and a cocky smirk on his face, was the same, and she couldn't help but smile a little.

Her mirth didn't last.

Sherlock turned the knob and pushed the heavy door inward and Alex's smile vanished.

A shrill, continuous tone issued from just inside the door and Alex went cold, barely registering Sherlock's hands pulling her through the open door and the thud of it closing behind them.

The alarm was louder inside the house, a steady drone in their ears. Sherlock immediately turned to the right, narrowly avoiding an ornate, wooden coat rack, and stared at a small bluish-grey screen that was set into the wall.

It was backlit and, even from behind him, Alex could see the numbers counting down. She was still too much in shock to comprehend what the ominous numbers were counting down to but she knew whatever happened when they reached zero wouldn't be good.

"Quiet!"

Alex jumped when Sherlock's loud voice cut through the shrill alarm.

"I didn't say anything!" she shot back, wondering what miniscule thing she'd done to give herself away.

"You were about to. I need to think."

His eyes flicked back and forth between the illuminated numbers on the panel and the entryway they were in. There were a few framed photographs on the opposite wall, above a small table that housed a green, ceramic bowl.

Without explanation, Sherlock, after a few more quick glances back at the panel, snatched the photo on the far left from the wall. It was of an elderly woman – small, slightly hunched over where she sat, hair so white it looked tinted blue. Sherlock turned it over in his hands and smiled at the back of the frame. There, written in pencil on the wood, were six single digit numbers. He quickly typed them into the panel's small keypad and a hush fell over the room.

Her ears were still ringing, despite the sudden silence. What had only been a handful of seconds had felt like an eternity and Alex tore her gaze from the panel to stare at Sherlock with wide eyes.

"How did you know it would be there?"

He smiled and placed the photograph back on the wall, surprising her when he uncharacteristically took a moment to ensure it hung straight.

"Doctor Madison is far too intelligent to rely on a birthday, anniversary or any other tiresome date for his alarm code. Unfortunately for him, his intelligence doesn't extend to the simple memorization of numbers. Human memory is limited and he's already filled his to capacity with every miniscule detail of his patients, both past and present. It's something he takes a great deal of pride in." Sherlock paused and nodded towards the unadorned wall to the left of the panel. "And, of course, there's the slight indentation in the wall there, where his fist repeatedly connects in frustration when he fails to recall the code. Therefore, I knew he'd have it hidden nearby."

Alex stared at him for a moment and then grinned. "You're brilliant!"

"Of course I am," he said in a bored tone that didn't entirely hide his pleasure.

With the alarm pacified they made their way further into the house. A small hallway led to the kitchen and dining room on their left but Sherlock ignored those rooms. After a few steps, the entryway opened into a large formal sitting room. Several tall bookcases lined the far wall, next to an arched doorway that, Sherlock assumed, led to the rest of the first floor and the staircase to the second. A bright oversized sofa was sat before a fireplace and under a window on the right was an old writing desk. It was clearly an antique, circa 1830 if Sherlock was right (he usually was), and looked out of place among the modern furnishings. It was from the William IV Period given the leather-paneled top, side rosettes and escutcheons in cast gilt brass, and the lozenge shaped wood moldings, Sherlock surmised. It looked relatively unused; its only purpose seemed to be as a stand for the multitude of framed photos scattered across its top. Even though he strongly suspected it wasn't important to why they were there, the snob in him couldn't resist a closer look.

Alex, still unsure of what exactly she was supposed to be doing, watched him make a beeline for the desk in confusion. He looked so entranced by it that she choked back her questions. Instead, she let him be and walked the short distance to the bookshelves in search of something to keep her busy while Sherlock was otherwise occupied.

She perused the shelves for several minutes, barely reading the titles. From what little she gathered they were mostly reference books with a few classics sprinkled throughout. Like everything else in the room, they looked practically unused.

Just as she was ready to turn away a small volume on the bottom shelf caught her eye.

"Go Ask Alice," she muttered the title under her breath and turned the book over in her hands. "Madison suggested I read this," she said louder.

"In rehab?" Sherlock asked absently and Alex looked over her shoulder. He was still at the desk but had moved his examination to the photographs on top of it.

"No, after. I never did though." She reshelved the book and faced him, surprised to find him staring at her intensely.

"You were in contact with Doctor Madison after you left Three Elms?"

"Yeah, so?" she said, slightly taken aback. "Does it matter? He said it was a condition of my release. I had to call him twice a month."

Sherlock's top lip twitched. "It matters in that when I asked if he'd had any contact with you he said, and I quote, 'once she was released I never saw her again.'"

"Well technically…"

"Yes, yes," he continued as he moved closer, gesturing with the photo in his hand emphatically, "he _technically_ never saw you again, but he spoke to you! Why would he imply he'd had absolutely no contact with you then?"

Sherlock began pacing in front of her, muttering under his breath all the while. She caught glimpses of the photo as he did. It was of a wedding party.

Alex jumped when he stopped in front of her suddenly.

"What did you talk about?"

"What…?"

"With Madison," he spat impatiently. "What did you talk about?"

"Not much really. He did most of the talking. I barely listened. I only did it because I thought I'd have to go back if I didn't. I guess he would ask how I was doing, if I'd had any relapses, that sort of thing."

"Did he ever ask where you were?"

Alex's brow wrinkled in concentration. "Yes. A lot actually."

Sherlock nodded like he'd expected her answer. "And how did you wind up in the north?"

Her eyes widened in comprehension. "He… he suggested it. He said it would be easier to find work. Sherlock, he gave me the name of the diner I worked at. He said it belonged to an old friend. I only got the job because I gave them Madison's name. Oh god… that's where I met…"

"Your husband, yes I know." Sherlock shoved the photo at her. "This is him, yes?"

Alex had to step back to see it properly but once she did there was no mistaking it. A much younger, tux-clad Madison stared back at her from the center of a group of well-dressed people. Next to him was the blond woman she recognized as his wife in her wedding dress. It would be a perfectly insignificant, boring wedding photo if not for the fact that a teenaged Charlie smiled at her from the woman's right.

"Sherlock, how is this possible?" Alex whispered.

"Answers later," he said brusquely and set the photo on the desk again before returning to take her hand. "Come on."

He tugged her out of the sitting room and into the rest of the house.

"Where are we going?" she asked, surprised at the shell-shocked quality to her voice.

"To find Madison's office."

He led her up the stairs and past a row of doors, stopping at the only one that was closed. Inside, Sherlock deposited her into a stiff backed chair and began scanning the room. He ignored the desk and computer completely; too easy. Instead, he went straight to a large painting behind the desk and removed it from the wall. He had the safe opened behind it in a heartbeat and, before Alex could blink, he was seated at the desk, pouring over the contents of a small folder.

She lost track of time as they sat in the office, her mind still reeling from the new developments. Charlie had known the Madison's; there could be no denying it now. He was close enough to have been in their wedding and he had kept a photo of Mrs. Madison in his office, hidden behind her own.

Alex shook her head slowly and curled her legs into the chair.

All the times she's talked about her stay in rehab – about Madison – and Charlie had said nothing. She cringed and felt like he'd hit her again. No, worse somehow. This deception hurt more than every time he'd put her in the hospital.

And, as much as she wished it was, Alex knew it couldn't be a coincidence that she met and befriended Charlie at the same diner that Madison had gotten her a job.

But why? What was the point to any of it? It didn't make any… oh.

"The money," Alex whispered, her head spinning as parts of the story clicked into place. She looked up to find Sherlock watching her solemnly.

"The money," she repeated louder. "The bloody money your brother gave me. My _bribe_," she sneered. "Madison knew about it. He sent me to that diner so Charlie could convince me to invest in the shipping company. It was nowhere near the size it is now. Not until I gave them that money."

Sherlock blinked at her for a moment and closed the folder.

"You're catching up."

"But why did he marry me Sherlock?" she continued. "He could have gotten the money without it. Why take it that far?"

"I don't know." He paused and she could tell he was choosing his words with care. "Perhaps he…"

Sherlock trailed off and cocked his head towards the closed door curiously.

"Sherlock?"

He shook his head quickly and gestured for her to be quiet. After a few seconds he spoke so lowly she could barely hear him.

"It would appear we have company."

Alex sat up straight with a sudden jolt of energy and strained her ears. If she was perfectly still she could hear it; the low tones of a heated conversation followed by the slight shuffle of shoes over carpet. The longer she listened the louder it became.

"Get under the desk."

Sherlock's hurried demand broke her concentration.

"What?"

"Get. Under. The. Desk," he hissed through clenched teeth and pushed the chair back to make room.

His tone gave her little choice but to do as he said. She scurried out of her seat and into the small space beneath the desk. Her body folded until her knees were tight against her chest and her cheek rested atop them. Her pulse pounded in her ears as Sherlock scooted the chair back in and she found herself staring at his trouser-clad legs.

The office door opened with a quiet creak and the sound of footsteps faltered just inside the room before coming to a stop near the desk. Alex held her breath as Doctor Madison's hushed, somber voice filled the small room…

"I knew I set that alarm."

* * *

**One more chapter down... Many answers coming next chapter.**

**Assuming everything goes according to plan, there will be 2 more chapters and an epilogue.**

**Please take the time to leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	33. Chapter 33

**Again, sorry for the delay. We're almost done people.**

**Many thanks to TheGirlWhoImagined, purpleflames, DanceLikeChildrenOfTheNight, itsbeautiful9, zenstarrflower, coconut-dreamer, Yema, Aimee, laced-with-fire, 88dragon06, TheMagentaColor, House Calls, Ellie, LolaWants, SerbiaTakesCntrl, JMac96, Owlettes, MORE, sixtysix, LunaAnatolia, Don't Fade Away, fan, Devan-Rae, and Miriam Gill for reviewing. You guys are what keeps my going!**

**I hope you enjoy.**

**Chapter 33:**

* * *

"**I knew I set that alarm."**

Alexandra's pulse raced and she clenched her hands into fists, barely registering the sharp stab of pain as her fingernails cut into her palms. For a moment neither man spoke, and even though she couldn't see them a clear image of the two found its way into her head. In her mind Sherlock was smiling smugly, eyes shining with excitement. Madison was all opposites; mouth turned down in a frown, his gaze wary. When Sherlock spoke next she could hear it in his voice and the picture cemented in her head.

"Ah, Doctor Madison, you're right on time."

"On time? For what?" he asked cautiously.

Sherlock ignored him. "You aren't flouncing about, threatening to call the police even though I'm obviously trespassing so I assume you know why I'm here?"

Alex heard Madison's heavy sigh over the creak of the door shutting again. A rustle of fabric and she knew he'd sat in the chair she'd just vacated.

"Yes," he answered wearily, one word enough to convey his resignation.

They were silent again and Alex fought the unbearable urge to fidget.

"I'd overlooked it at first," Sherlock admitted bitterly after a long moment. "Missed it. I was distracted of course. It won't happen again."

Alex winced inwardly, somehow knowing she was the distraction he spoke of.

"Sherlock…" Madison started only to be cut off by the younger man.

"I always knew Charles Claymore was at the center everything. That even in death it was about him in some way. So I absorbed everything I could about his life, his family. He was an only child so I looked into his parents, his aunts and uncles, friends, coworkers… everyone. When that didn't turn anything up I even went so far as to look into his parents previous relationships. Did you know his mother had been married twice before she met Henry Claymore?"

"You know I do," Madison spat quickly.

"But neither of those unions resulted in children," Sherlock continued. "It never occurred to me to look further. Not until a few days ago."

"Sherlock this is pointless," Madison tried to interject, only to be interrupted again.

"I wasn't finished! Elizabeth's second husband had already been married and had a child. Bridget Bristow. Bridget lived with Elizabeth and her father until she was sixteen and they divorced. A year later, she was married for a third time, to Henry Claymore and Charles was born soon after."

He paused and Alex wanted to yell at him to continue. Even though he was technically speaking to Doctor Madison, she had learned more from him in the past five minutes than she had in the last month.

"It seemed unlikely that young Bridget Bristow would remain close to her ex-stepmother, but she did, didn't she?"

"Yes." Madison's voice was barely a whisper but his solemn answer seemed to ring in Alexandra's ears.

"So close in fact," Sherlock continued, "that she was a frequent visitor to the Claymore's home and at seventeen and a half years of age, an ideal babysitter for Charles. Perhaps even something of a surrogate mother to the boy. They remained close as he got older. He was even at her wedding. _Your _wedding. Bristow is your wife's original surname is it not? Now I believe she would be referred to as Bridget Madison nee Bristow, am I correct?"

Alex's left leg was beginning to cramp but she didn't dare rub it as she waited for Madison's answer.

"You can stop with the questions," Madison spoke angrily. "You bloody well know the answers! Just tell me what you know."

Another pause and Alex wished she could see something other than Sherlock's knees.

"Fine," the detective said tightly. "I know that you married Bridget when you were both in your mid-thirties, putting Charles around seventeen. I know from his parents financial records that they were struggling. When it came time to think of university he turned to his 'sister' and her wealthy doctor husband. What he didn't realize was you weren't doing very well yourself. You're practice had failed to take off and you still owed tens of thousands in loans to pay for your own education. But they wouldn't be dissuaded."

Sherlock fell silent again, just as an unpleasant tingling sensation began in Alex's foot. It wouldn't be long before the appendage fell asleep entirely. As carefully as possible, she tried to shift into a more comfortable position. As she did, a fresh spasm of pain raced up her leg and she jerked slightly, her head connecting with the underside of the desk with a soft thump.

Sherlock cleared his throat and began speaking immediately in an attempt to cover the small noise. Alex felt the toe of his shoe press firmly against her leg, urging her to be still.

"Whose idea was it to start selling prescription drugs? Yours or Charles'?"

"Neither, it was…"

"Your wife's, I know. At seventeen Mr. Claymore was far too young to be so enterprising and it would never have occurred to you to risk your medical license like that. Not until Bridget persuaded you at any rate. I imagine she can be very persuasive."

Doctor Madison sighed but made no comment as Sherlock continued.

"You would write the false prescriptions and Charles would sell them. He paid his way through university with the money he made. After giving you your share I'm sure. Eventually you were able to get out of debt and open a new practice. A rehab, ironically enough. Fast forward several years. Charles has graduated and thinks it time to expand the business. He approaches you and tells you of his friend's new venture, a shipping company. He's taken a job there and explains how, with the right resources, it could be used to move drugs into the country. A far cry from writing false prescriptions and you'd already had a number of close calls with that already. What was it you told the police? Your pad of script paper had been stolen? Never mind, it's irrelevant. The point is, you'd never put your own money into the company. That would jeopardize everything you'd struggled to build. But fate seemed to smile on you, didn't it Doctor Madison?"

"Sherlock…"

"A troublesome patient, two in fact. The man's brother pays you a visit, offers you a small sum of money to grant the woman an early release. You agree but are still curious. You ask the brother how he plans on convincing the girl to leave. When you learn of the bribe everything seems to fall into place. You stay in touch with the woman. Direct her straight to Mr. Claymore. I imagine it was rather easy."

Silence fell over the room and Sherlock leaned back in the chair confidently. After a long moment, Madison began to clap slowly.

"That was quite the speech Sherlock."

"You're not denying it then?"

"What would be the point?" Madison replied quietly, sinking further into the armchair. "He was never supposed to get involved with her you know," he added after several seconds had passed. "Never supposed to marry her. That wasn't part of the plan. He was just supposed to convince her to invest. Bridget was furious when she found out he'd started dating her. You see, he had to hide all evidence of ever having known us."

"But arson Madison, really?" Sherlock's voice was filled with distaste. "It isn't very inspired."

"What on earth are you talking about now?" he asked and Alex was confused by the seemingly genuine befuddlement in his voice.

"The fires Doctor. You tried to have Alexandra killed." Sherlock leaned forward over the desk, knees crowding her even further in his enthusiasm. "What happened exactly? When Mr. Claymore died did the money stop coming in? Without him you had no direct connection to the company. Oh well, except for these I suppose."

The sound of papers rustling reached her ears and Alex remembered the file he'd pulled from Madison's safe when they'd first entered the office. For the first time, she wondered what was in it.

"It isn't what you think," Madison spoke quietly.

"No?" Sherlock turned his head to the side and regarded the other man evenly. "You mean it isn't a ledger of wireless transfers between a private Smythe Shipping account and your own?"

Madison's breath hitched. "That proves nothing."

"Oh it most certainly proves something. Tell me, where did you find it? You obviously broke into Claymore's office and his parents' home in search of it, with no luck."

"We… it was sent in the post."

This seemed to alarm Sherlock and his next comment died in his throat. "When?" he asked instead.

Madison opened his mouth to answer but the brisk clack of footsteps in the hall stopped him. Both men turned their attention to the closed office door and Sherlock cocked his head to the side in thought.

"Court shoes, four and a half inch heels, size five if I'm not mistaken… It appears your wife means to join us. No need to look so panicked Doctor Madison. I'm surprised it took this long."

"She really thought I'd just forgotten to set the alarm," he began quickly, with the air of a man defeated. "Sherlock, you need to know…"

Madison stopped abruptly as the door swung open.

"Richard, what is taking so long? You only said you were getting your checkbook…" The woman's haughty, feminine voice trailed off when she noticed her husband wasn't alone.

"Bridgett…"

"Who is this man Richard? What is he doing in our home? Why haven't you called the police?" she asked hurriedly, her already high voice raising another octave.

"There's no need to play the innocent victim Mrs. Madison," Sherlock began calmly. "I've been having a lovely chat with your husband about your connection to Charles Claymore and your involvement in matters concerning his widow."

"What? Who are you? What are you talking about? I…"

"Bridgett stop," Madison spoke softly and Alex heard the woman's voice falter and then go silent. When she spoke again, the panic was gone from her voice and replaced with a cool even tone.

"Fine. Then call the police." She paused and the unmistakable sound of rummaging through a purse reached Alex through the wood of a desk. "I thought not," she said again when Sherlock didn't speak. "What real proof do you have?" The tell-tell noises of her search abruptly ended and Doctor Madison hissed through his teeth.

"Bridgett!"

"Shut up Richard! He hasn't called anyone. What's to stop me from shooting him? He's an intruder!"

It took Alexandra's over stimulated brain longer than she cared to admit to put the rustling of the woman's hand in her bag together with the threat. When it finally clicked she gasped slightly and pushed at Sherlock's legs, but he didn't budge.

"I'd like to believe your overwhelming sense of morality would stop you, but after meeting you that doesn't seem likely," Sherlock answered sarcastically.

Mrs. Madison laughed; a high, melodious tinkling sound that got under Alex's skin. "You're probably right. Richard, call the police and tell them we were forced to shoot someone who was breaking into our home."

Alex felt the panic rise in her throat. Without thinking, she rammed her shoulder into Sherlock's knee and felt him give slightly. With her hands on his legs she was able to scoot the chair away from the desk, enough to force her way from beneath it.

"Don't!"

Sherlock jumped to his feet at the same time, his expression one of vague surprise. But he wasn't her only concern. She turned quickly, putting herself between the detective and the Madison's. The shock on their faces was a matched pair and Alex almost laughed at the absurdity.

The shiny metal of the gun now leveled at her curbed the strange impulse.

She stared at them both. The tall, blonde woman looked the same as in her photographs, though perhaps a bit older. Time had not been as kind to Doctor Madison.

She felt Sherlock's hand on her arm, trying to pull her behind him, but she slapped it away without looking at him.

"Not that I don't appreciate the gesture," his deep voice issued from just behind her quietly, "but you are too small to be an effective shield."

Alex opened her mouth with every intention of telling him to be quiet but Bridgett's strange, manic laugh called her back to task.

"You? My brother's drug-addict, whore of a wife? Do you think I'd have any problem shooting you?"

Doctor Madison took a step towards his wife; hand raised as though to reason with her, and repeated what was fast becoming his mantra.

"Bridgett…"

"Stay back Richard! She's the problem! The reason for the whole mess!"

The woman's arm was shaking with rage, or maybe nerves, Alex couldn't tell. Sherlock's eyes were all for the gun in the unsteady hand and moved closer, until his chest lightly brushed Alex's back, a long line of warmth from her shoulder to her waist. It was surprisingly comforting.

"I haven't done anything."

Mrs. Madison scoffed. "If you believe that you're a bigger fool than I thought. But it doesn't matter. I'm ending it now."

She took a shaking step forward, pointing the gun at Alex's chest and Sherlock's hands closed around each of her arms with enough pressure to bruise.

The room erupted into chaos as several things happened at once.

Bridgett's finger squeezed the trigger and the bullet ripped from the gun with a bang so loud Alex was momentarily deafened. At the same time, Sherlock flung them both to the side, but not before she saw Madison rush his wife, knocking her to the floor as well. When her hearing returned a few seconds later she was on her stomach behind the desk and could hear Madison shouting. The ringing in her ears made it hard to understand his exact words but it almost sounded like, "not supposed to kill her." She was too stunned to give them much thought, especially when she realized that the surprisingly heavy body covering her own hadn't moved since they'd hit the floor.

"Jesus… in here!"

A familiar voice called from just inside the door and Alex's head snapped up.

"John!"

Before she could blink he was on his knees next to her, gingerly rolling Sherlock to his back. Alex quickly sat up as John looked him over.

"John, the Madison's…" As she began to speak she saw Lestrade hurry into the room, followed by the female sergeant whose name she could never remember and three uniformed officers.

"It's alright, the police will handle it. It's what they get paid for."

Alex turned back to the two men. "Sherlock, is he…?" She couldn't finish the question as she stared at his unmoving form.

"He's fine." John sighed and sat back on his legs. "He's just knocked himself out, the great bastard."

"I heard that."

The man in question stared up at them through one opened eye. Alex let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and felt some of the pressure in her chest alleviate. But still…

"Are you sure? The gun…"

She attacked before he could stop her, hands frantically searching for the bullet wound she'd been convinced was there. When her hands travelled lower Sherlock caught them quickly and pulled them off.

"Get off, I'm fine!"

As though to illustrate his point, Sherlock jumped to his feet and began searching the wall behind the desk for the place where the bullet had pierced.

John smiled and turned to Alex. "What about you? Alright?"

"I think so. How did you know where we were?"

"Sherlock texted me." He stood and reached down to help her up.

"What? When?" she asked in surprised confusion.

"In the taxi."

Sherlock was suddenly standing next to them again but, even though he'd spoken, all his attention seemed focused on the opposite end of the room, where a sobbing, handcuffed Mrs. Madison was trying to explain why she had a recently fired, unregistered handgun in her possession. Doctor Madison looked on wearily, wringing his meaty, unbound hands.

He looked up suddenly and caught Sherlock's eye.

"Detective-Inspector," Doctor Madison began quietly, his gaze still fixed on Sherlock. "I will go with you willingly and make a full confession…"

"Richard no!"

"It's over Bridgett!" he snapped. "You would do well to realize that." He addressed Lestrade again. "As I said, I'm ready to confess… on one condition."

"And that is?"

"That you allow myself and Mister Holmes to speak privately before I do."

Lestrade looked at Sherlock questioningly but the other man only shrugged.

"I don't know…"

"I can take care of myself Lestrade."

"Oh I'm well aware of that Sherlock…"

Doctor Madison cleared his throat and put his wrists together in front of him. "If it would make you more comfortable Detective-Inspector then, by all means, restrain me. I won't resist."

After only a second's hesitation, Lestrade secured the handcuffs and ushered everyone but Sherlock and Madison out of the office. The door shut behind them loudly and Alex couldn't help but stare at the offending piece of wood, wondering what on earth Madison could be telling him. She barely registered the still sobbing Bridgett being led downstairs until only she, John and Lestrade remained in the hallway.

When Sherlock emerged a few minutes later he looked more austere than normal. When Alex asked repeatedly what Madison had said he would only shake his head. Whether he was unwilling or unable to answer, she couldn't tell. But whatever his news had been, he didn't look happy about it.

They were still at Scotland Yard two hours later.

Sherlock and Alexandra were separated almost immediately, each taken into their own interrogation rooms to recount the evening's events. But not before she had kissed him in full view of the entire yard. A passionate, wet snog that had gone on entirely too long for what was appropriate in public. Sherlock's face was still on fire and he imagined if he were to look in the mirror his cheeks would be tinged pink from blushing. It didn't help that the jeers and odd looks from the Yard's staff had already started. Even Lestrade wasn't above it, though his ribbing seemed more good natured than most. Sherlock couldn't help but suspect she'd done it partly as a punishment for not telling her what Madison had disclosed. But she didn't want to know, of that he was certain.

Sherlock was forced out of his reverie by a steaming cup of coffee being placed on the desk in front of him. He'd been deep in thought in Lestrade's office for the last forty-five minutes, waiting for someone to find him, and looked up sharply to see John taking the chair opposite him, his own Styrofoam cup in hand.

"You're more quiet than usual." John smiled mischievously. "If it's because of that kiss, don't worry. Everyone will forget… eventually."

Sherlock sniffed loudly and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Oh cheer up Sherlock! It's over. You've done it again. The Madison's are behind bars, Alex is safe and everything can go back to normal… well I say normal…"

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably and mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said it's not over."

"What do you mean?"

"Charles Claymore is alive."

John blinked at him and set his cup on the edge of the desk, all traces of his previous mirth gone.

"That's not possible. You must be…"

"That's what he said John. Madison. He told me Mr. Claymore is still alive. It makes sense."

"Uh, no Sherlock, it doesn't. We dug him up for christsakes! Now you're telling me that wasn't him? That he somehow faked his own death? Faked pancreatic cancer?" John's voice rose with every word until he was almost shouting. "I'm a doctor Sherlock. Do you know how hard that would be?"

"Anything can be faked, given the right resources. Even death. I never said it was easy."

John stared at him for a long moment.

"But why?"

Sherlock shrugged, a quick rise and fall of his shoulders that somehow managed to be elegant. "Perhaps he feared for his life. Maybe he knew Alexandra was going to try to kill him. Maybe he'd been attacked by the same people who attacked his business partner. Or he knew it was only a matter of time before the police caught on to his operation and he was looking for a way out. It could be any number of things."

John stared at him again, his face contorted in confusion.

"Okay, say that he did fake his death… Then why is he back now? Why try and kill Alex? Revenge, money… what?"

Sherlock uncrossed his arms and lifted the Styrofoam cup to his lips, wincing slightly as the hot liquid rushed down his throat.

"For a long time I thought she was just lucky," he began after a long moment, "to have survived so many attempts on her life. Now I wonder if Claymore ever had any intention of killing her."

"But…"

"Think about it John. She was never where she was supposed to be. Those arsons were too elaborate, too contained to be of any real use. If he'd wanted her dead why not set fire to Thomas Wellington's entire home? Why seclude it to the bedroom? And the messages John, the words so painstakingly manufactured. If he intended her to die in the first fire then the entire message would have been there, not just one word. It sounds insane, but then everything points to the fact that Charles Claymore _is_ insane. What if he was just trying to get her attention? To let her know he was alive? In his own disturbed way, he wants her back."

"If that's true, then what has Madison been confessing to for the last two hours?" John asked.

"To his part. The Madison's were sent a ledger of sorts in the post. It contained detailed accounts of his involvements in Smythe Shipping. The sort of information only Claymore would have access to. His way of letting them know he was alive and to elicit their help."

"How did they help?"

"The mental patient. Tim Cox. Doctor Madison had the resources needed to put him on the streets. He filled his head with false confessions to throw us off. He knew of our history with Brian Dannelly and tried to frame him. The Madison's killed him and Officer Carrow."

John was silent for several minutes as he tried to absorb this new, crazy information. He downed the rest of his coffee before speaking again.

"You have to tell Lestrade Sherlock. Hell, you have to tell Alex."

Sherlock shook his head. "She doesn't want to know."

"Sherlock…"

"She said, and I quote, 'don't try to tell me he isn't dead.'"

"That's too literal Sherlock, even for you. She _needs_ to know."

The door to Lestrade's office opened, revealing the DI himself. He looked tired and his suit was rumpled, tie loose around his neck. He stopped when he saw the two men at his desk.

"There you are. I was wondering where you'd got off too. Surprised you didn't insist on being in the room when Madison confessed."

"No need, I already know," Sherlock said, without his usual bravado.

"What did he say?" John asked.

Lestrade rubbed at his eyes and leaned against the desk. "He confessed that he and his wife killed Brian Dannelly and Carrow. And that he convinced Tim Cox to say he started the fires. But he refused to admit he had anything to do with the arson at Wellington's house and the flat Alex was staying at, or the abandoned home where the heroin addicts were killed.

Sherlock looked at John. "You see?"

The DI's head turned from one to the other. "See what?"

"Tell him Sherlock." John's tone left no room for argument.

"Fine," Sherlock sighed. "But first you should get Alexandra. I'd rather not have to repeat myself." Or tell her when we're alone, he added silently.

Lestrade frowned. "She's gone Sherlock. We've been done with her for an hour. She said to tell you she'd be at the flat."

Sherlock's eyes widened and he shot to his feet, followed closely by John.

"You sent her with police protection, yes?"

"Well no," he answered, confused by their reaction. "The threat was gone so…" He trailed off but it didn't matter.

He was already talking to an empty room.

* * *

**Well I told you there'd be answers in the next chapter... now I just hope everything makes sense.**

**Thanks for reading!**


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